


.iy' 
















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THE 

COMPLETE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

WILLIAM COWPER, Esq., 

INCLUDING THE HYMNS AND TRANSLATIONS FROU 
MADAME GUION, MILTOW, ETC., 

AND 

ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA; 
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIO. BATTISTA ANDREINI 

WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 

BY THE 

REV. H. STEBBING. A. M. 

IN TWO VOLUMES, ' 
VOL I. 



NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON A CO., 200 BROADWAY. 

18§2. 



O-','^^^ 

T^^ 

•K^^'^^ 



the otily edili!>n of Cowper which contains the whole of 
liis I'os'iijs in one norlte! voiunie. 






|tU«1t V 



¥i» 



MEMOIR 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



Thb misfortunes of high-minded, but sufiering 
genius, have the strongest of all claims upon oui 
sympathies. Men of fine intellect are more exposed 
than any other class to the attacks of adversity, be- 
cause they are less ready at providing the means of 
defence. They have a trust, a strong and powerful 
ti'ust, in their own peculiar sources of happiness. 
The bright creations of their imagination keep them 
in a gay and summer Eden of delight, and they rest 
contented in the luxury of their thou_;hts, till tlie 
coldness of the world in which they are rouses them 
to a sense of loneliness or dependence. That which 
other men are only in their youth, men of genius 
are to their latest days, living on hopes which are 
not to be fulfilled, and dreaming on tliiny s which do 
not exist. But it is to the spirit that thus wavider^, 
and mistakes the assurance of its own thoughts for 
the substance of existence, that the world owes its 
best means of felicity, and humanity its noblest 
developement. Conquerors and princes when they 
suffer, suffer only as men, but the sensitive and 
imaginative author feels the stings of misfortune 
like the being of another world, like one who was 
destined to be a teacher upon earth, but has found his 
calling neglected and despised — a spirit too noble to 
change its nature, but too weak not to feel the bit- 
terness of its fate. ITie adversities to which men of 
talent are exposed, are always thus afflicting, and in 
most cases destructive of their very being, but there 
is a species of evil to which more than one child of 
genius has been subjected, that throws a still darkei 
cloud upon their path, and invests them with a 
gloom which makes all other afflictions seem light 
and tolerable. To hav3 the mind itself made prisoner 



4 MEMOIR OF 

—the faculties that deliglrt in their free and un- 
hesitating course bound up in a dark and heavy 
mtlancholy— and the thoughts converted into hideous 
shapes the moment they rise in the soul— This is to 
suffer indeed — to pay a price for genitis which 
would be far too high for any other possession. 

The life of Cowper is a melancholy chapter in the 
history of the human mind. But it is fraught with 
interest of a peculiar kind, and when rightly con- 
sideied gives rise to a train of reflections which, pain- 
ful as they may be, leave an impression on the 
mind partaking more of the nature of cranquillized 
sorrow than of despondency. 

This gTeat and afflicted poet was bom at Berk- 
hampstead, November 26th, 1731. His father was 
rector of that place, and Chaplain to his Majesty 
George the Second. The family of the Cowpers was 
one of the oldest n the kingdom, and numbered 
among its members several men distinguished foi 
their virtues and their talents. The great uncle 
and grandfather of the poet had been both raised 
to the peerage for their distinguished legal abili- 
ties, and the latter, who died in the year 1728, 
united in himself the offices of Chief JTistice of 
Chester, and of a judge in the court of Common 
Pleas. The subject of our memoir was from his 
earliest youth a prey to ill health, and gave sigiis, it 
is said, in infancy of that nervous sensibility wliicli, 
as his years increased, gradually assumed the cha- 
racter of a morbid melancholy. This natural tendency 
of his constitution was considerably sti-engthened by 
its being unfoi-tunately deemed neces.sary to send 
him, at a very early age, to a distance from home. 
Delicate as he was, both in mind and person, neither 
a school nor a boarding-house was likely to improve 
his health, or give greater elasticity to his spirits. 
He had not a sufficient stock af either, to meet the 
quick demand that is made for them, amid a set of 
joyous and robust boys, and his little depressed heart 
Bhi-unk back, in mere self-defence, against his un- 
sympathising companions. ' I have been,' said he, 
in after years still remembering the miseries of his 



WILLIAM COVVPER. 6 

youth, ' all my life subject to inflammations of the 
eye, and in my boyish days had specka on both, 
that threatened to cover them. My father, alarmed 
for the consequences, sent me to a female oculist ot 
gieat renown at that time, in whose house I abode 
two years, but to no good purpose. From her I went 
to Westminster school, where, at the age of fourteen, 
the small-pox seized me, and proved the better 
oculist of the two, for it delivered me from them 
all ;' but it did not render him better qualified to 
bear with a good grace the bitter annoyances to 
which he was subject, and we find him declaring 
that his timidity made him a constant object of per- 
secution to his unfeeling school-fellows. 

Cowper remained at Westminster till he was eigh- 
teen, and, notwithstanding the unfitness of his cha- 
I'acterfor a public school, left it with the reputation of 
an excellent and accomplished classic. But the whole 
of his early life appears to have been misdirected, not, 
as Mr. Hayley says, by a perverse destiny ; but by a 
most culpably erroneous judgment in tho.->e who had 
the superintendence of his education. It must liave 
been evident to the most inconsiderate observer, that 
the only chance he had of gaining strength, or of 
possessing a sufferable existence, was his being 
allowed to pass his life in tranquillity and retire 
ment. But, in defiance of every warning, which 
all the eighteen years of his life had given, he was 
devoted to the study of the law, and made to place 
his hopes of fortune on the exercise of a profession 
which must every hour do violence to his character. 
Notwithstanding liis unfitness for the pursuit, he 
was immediately on leaving Westminster articled to 
Mr. Chapman, a solicitor, in whose house he re- 
sided for three years, gaining the love of evei*y one 
around him by the gentleness of his manners, and 
amiable temper, but still suffering deeply from that 
incipient melancholy which was secietly ruining 
his mind. 

Having completed the term for which he wtt* 
articled to Mr. Chapman, he took chambers in the 
Temple for the purpose of finishing his studies as a 



6 MEMOIR OF 

barrister, but which desig-n, as might have been ex 
pected he never accomplished. It was now, how- 
ever, that he began to assume the character of a 
literary man, and having formed an intimacy with 
the parties who conducted the Connoisseur, he con- 
tributed several papers to that periodical, which 
were admired for the superior talent they exhibited. 
He also commenced the constant practice of versift 
cation, and produced a variety of translations, 
several of which it is believed were published 
anonymously in the different periodicals of the time. 
It is also to the same era, perhaps, we may refer 
the rapid growth of that ardent attachment to his 
beautiful and accomplished cousin, which gave rise 
to so many distressful feelings in the bosoms of both 
these amiable beings. Theodora Jane Cowper was, if 
tradition is to be believed, in every way worthy o' 
the poet's love, but her father, Ashley Cowper, con- 
sidered the relationship between his daughter and 
nephew, as too close to admit of their union, and 
after a long struggle with the parent's feelings on 
the subject, and between love and filial obedience, 
they resigned the hopes which, it appears, they had 
long and warmly cherished. It is impossible to say 
how far this might not contribute to Cowper's in- 
herent melancholy. It certainly served to excrciae 
his muse, and the verses which he wrote to his 
cousin before their fate was quite decided, exhibit 
all that thoughtful humour and that gaiety which 
seems imbued with a sense of its transitiveness, and 
is therefore deeper and more precious, which forms 
an essential feature of his poetry. We almost think 
we hear the dejected and middle-aged man in one 
of his gayer moods in the following stanzas, which 
shew that his passion was returned with equal 
warmth. 

WRITTEN IN A QUARREL. 

'^'he Delivery of it prevented by a Reconciliatton. 
Think, Delia, with what cruel haste 

Our fleeting pleasures move, 
Nor heedless thus in sorrow waste 

The moments due to love. 



WILLIAM COWPER. f 

Be wise, my fair, and gently treat 
The few that are our friends; 

Think, thus abused, what sad regret 
Their speedy flight attends. 

Sure in those eyes I loved so well 

And wish'd so long to see, 
Anger I thought could never dwell. 

Or anger aim'd at me. 

No hold offence of mine I knew 
Should e'er provoke your hate ; 

And early taught to think you true, 
Still hoped a gentler fate. 

With kindness bless the present hour, 

Or, oh ! we meet in vain ! 
What can we do in absence more 

Than suffer and complain 1 

Fated to ills beyond redress 

We must endure our woe ; 
The days allowd us to possess, 

'Tis madness to forego. 

There is the same delicacy of thought and expres- 
sion in the following, written it would seem on « 
similar occasion as the preceding verses. 

This evening, Delia, you and I 
Have managed most delightfully. 

For with a frown we parted : 
Having contrived some trifle that 
We both may be much troubled at. 

And sadly disconcerted. 

Yet well as each perform'd their part* 
We might perceive it was but art ; 

And that we both intended 
To sacrifice a little ease ; 
For all such petty flaws as these 

Are made but to be mended. 



8 MEMOIR OP 

You knew, Dissembler ! all the while. 
How sweet it was to reconcile 

After this heavy pelt ; 
That we should gain by this allay 
When next we met, and laugh away 

The care we never felt. 

Happy ! when we but seek t' endure 
A little pain, then find a cure 

By double joy requited ; 
For friendship, like a severed bone, 
Improves and joins a stronger tone 

When aptly reunited. 

Time, however, gradually convinced the lovera 
that they hoped in vain, and with what a heavy and 
sickening heart the delicate-minded Cowper watched 
the fading vision of happiness depart may be imagined 
from these verses. 

Hope, like the short-lived ray, that gleams awhile 
Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste. 

Cheers e'en the face of misery to a smile ; 
But soon the momentary pleasure's past. 

How oft, my Delia ! since our last farewell, 

(Years that have roll'd since that distressful hour,) 

Grieved, I have said. When most our hopes prevail, 
Our promised happiness is less secure. 

Oft T have thought the scene of trouble closed. 
And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms ; 

As oft some dire mischance has interposed. 

And snatch'd th' expected blessing from my arms. 

The seaman thus, his shatter'd vessel lost. 

Still vainly strives to shun the threat'niug death ; 

And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast. 
And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath : 

Borne by the wave, steep sloping from the shore. 
Back to th' inclement deep again he beats 

The surge aside, and seems to tread secure ; 
And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats 



WILLIAM GOWPEK. 9 

Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue 
My fond attempt, disdainfully retired, 

And with proud scorn compell'd me to subdue 
Th' ill-fated passion by yourself inspired ; 

Then haply to some distant spot removed* 

Hopeless to gain, unwilling to molest 
With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved, 

Despair or absence had redeem'd my rest. 

But now sole partner in my Delia's heart, 
Yet doom'd far off in exile to complain. 

Eternal absence cannot ease my smart, 
And hope subsists but to prolong my pain. 

Oh then, kind Heaven! be this my latest breath ; 

Here end my life, or make it worth my care ; 
Absence from whom we love is worse than death. 

And frustrate hope severer than despair. 

But to proceed : a period was now apnroaching in 
Co^vper's life which presented the peculiarities of his 
character in their strongest light. Possessing con- 
nexions from which any other individual would con- 
fidently have looked for powerful patronage, he was 
only desirous of obtaining some situation which would 
enable him, should he gain the object of his wishes, 
to marry with a prospect of support, and at the same 
time save him from pursuing the more toilsome road 
of his profession. In conformity with these wishes, 
the interest of his friends was employed to this pur- 
pose, and they succeeded in obtaining for him, in his 
thirty-first 3'ear, the offices of Reading Clerk, and 
Clerk of the Private Committees to the House of 
Lords. There are few persons, however nervous, 
whose timidity would prevent them from performing 
the slight duties of these oflBces, but to Cowper they 
presented an idea of publicity and exposure. He 
would be obliged to read aloiid before several persons, 
and he shrunk with terror from the performance of 
duties which would thus bring him out of his self- 
retirement. His friends, therefore, finding it would 
be of no arail to press him into this situation, obtained 
A2 



10 MEMOIR OF 

him the appointment of Clerk of the Joiimals. Th« 
state of his feelings while these circumstances were 
passing,' was painful in the extreme, and caused at 
last so fearful an agitation of mind, that his acquaint- 
ance began to apprehend the most serious conse- 
quences. Unfortunately, a dispute occurring in Par- 
liament on some contested point, it became necessary 
that he should, notwithstanding the nature of his 
present office, appear at the Bar of the House of Lords. 
After the struggle which he had already undergone, 
this was too much for his diseased nervous system to 
contend with, and the friends who were to accompany 
him to the House found him in so melancholy a con- 
dition of despondency on the day appointed, that they 
advised him to relinqxiish any further contest with 
his apprehensions. 

The situation, accordingly, on which he had placed 
many hopes of prosperity, and to which he looked as 
alone likely to provide him with a fit provision for 
marrying, was given up ; hut it is distressing to know 
that it was not resigned till the delicate and suffering 
mind of Cowper was almost irretrievahly ruined by 
the anxiety he had experienced. From this period 
his intellect gave signs of disorder, and it was deemed 
advisable to place him under the care of Doctor 
Cotton, a physician at St. Alban's, and a man of great 
talent and virtue. By the kindness and professional 
skill of this gentleman, the afflicted condition of the 
poet was considerably alleviated, and in the course of 
six or seven months his mind began to recover from 
the fearful depression it had suffered. 

We must here not pass over without observation, 
the opinion which has been often brought forward, 
that the principal cause of Cowper's melancholy lay 
in his religion. A more unreasonable supposition 
could hardly be started. The whole tendency of his 
character, in youth, led to the afflictions he suffered 
in after years. He was weak in his physical consti- 
tution, timid in his temper, quick and sensitive in his 
feelings, and had a morbidness of temperament which 
gave to his fears a constant and substantial gloom. 
Many other men have suffered from too great sensi- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 11 

bility, from irritation or delicacy of mind, but no one, 
perhaps, ever experienced like Cowper the miseries 
of such a constitution, united with a heavy gloom of 
melancholy which rendered them permanent. It was 
not as the air changed, or with the capriciousness of 
an invalid, that he was gay or melancholy. The blood 
at his heart was infected with disease, and it required 
a change as well in his physical as mental constitu 
tion to relieve his distress. Every thing which we 
know of the life of this amiable man tends to convince 
us that no abstract opinions of any kind could reason 
ably be assig^led as the cause of his gloom, either at 
the period of which we are now speaking, or at any 
other. His melancholy, indeed, might strongly in- 
fluence his religious belief; it might embitter the 
waters of life even as they were poured out fresh into 
his cup — it might make him think of God as of man 
with terror, and imagine that the dark shadow of his 
earthly fate was thrown far as he could see over the 
abyss of futurity ; but it could do no more. Religion 
never clogs the veins, nor distempers the intellect, 
and when its revelations are made a subject of un- 
natural fear, it is after the mind has learned to see 
shapes of terror wherever it turns ; when the sun and 
stars are as fraught with signs, as the sci-iptures with 
declarations, of destruction. 

Nothing can more forcibly depict the state of the 
sufferer's mind, or the nature of bis melancholy, than 
the following letters ; the first, exhibiting the broken- 
hearted humility which had been converted by disease 
into terror. The second, the tenderness of a noble 
soul examining mysteries to discover its own con- 
demnation. On being asked to compose some hjTnns, 
he writes : 

* Ask possibilities, and they shall be performed ; but 
ask no hymns from a man suffering by despair as I 
do. I could not sing the Lord's Song were it to 
save my life, banished as I am, not to a strange land, 
but to a remoteness from his presence, in comparison 
with which the distance from east to west is no dis- 
tance, is vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either in 
prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame of 



12 MEMOIR OF 

mind which I am conscious does not belong to me, 
least of all can I venture to use the lang:uage of ab- 
solute resignation, lest, only counterfeiting, I should 
for that very reason be taken strictly at my word, and 
lose all my remaining comfort. Can there not be 
found among those translations of Madame Guion, 
somewhat that might serve the purpose l I should 
think, there miht. Submission to the will of Christ, 
my memory tells me, is a theme that pervades them 
all. If so, your request is performed already ; and if 
any alteration in them should be necessary, I will 
with all my heart make it. I have no objection to 
giving the graces of the foreigner an English dress, 
but insuperable ones to all false pretences and affected 
exhibitions of what I do not feel.' 

The next is a still more melancholy evidence of his 
unconquerable gloom. 

• I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe, 
especially when I reflect that you perfoi-med the 
journey on a day so fatal, as I understand, to others 
travelling the same road. I found those comforts in 
your visit which have foraierly sweetened all our 
interviews, in part restored. I knew you ; knew you 
for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out 
of the wilderness into the pasture where the chief 
shepherd feeds his flock, and felt my sentiments ot 
aflfectionate friendship for you the same as ever. But 
one thing was still wanting, and that thing the crown 
of all. I shall find it in God's time, if it be not lost 
for ever. When I say this, I say it trembling ; for at 
what time soever comfort shall come, it will not come 
without its attendant evil ; and whatever good thing 
may occur in the interval, I have sad forebodings of 
the event, having learned, by experience, that I was 
bom to be persecuted with peculiar fury, and as- 
suredly believing, that such as my lot has been, it 
will be so to the end. This belief is connected in my 
mind with an observation I have often made, and is, 
perhaps, founded, in great part, upon it ; that there 
is a certain style of dispensations maintained by Pro- 
vidence in the dealings of God with every man, which, 
however the incidents of his life niay vary, and though 



WILLIAM COWPER. 13 

he may be thrown into many different situations, is 
never exchanged for another.' 

As the mind of Cowper regained some degree of 
tranqnillity, the dread with which his religious feel- 
ings had inspired him, was gTadually changed into a 
humble and comforting trust in the Divine goodness. 
Shortly after this improvement in his mental state, 
he was induced, by the persuasions of his brother, a 
clergyman, resident at Cambridge, to make his home 
at Huntingdon, at which place he accordingly took a 
lodging, and determined upon leading a life of quiet 
and retirement. His removal to Huntingdon took 
place in June, 1765, and was followed by the forma- 
tion of a strict and affectionate friendship with the 
family of Mr. Unwin. It was under the roof of this 
clergyman that Cow[jer found the greatest comfort ol 
his existence, which though subjected to the distress- 
ing disorders of his constitution, was rendered com- 
paratively happy by the solicitous attention of affec- 
tion. He has forcibly described, in one of his letters 
to his cousin. Lady Hesketh, the pleasure he felt on 
first forming an intimacy with these friends of his 
solitude. ' Since I wrote the above,' says he, ' I me* 
Mrs. Unwin in the street, and went home with her. 
She and I walked togetlier near two hours in the 
garden, and had a conversation, which did me more 
good than I should have received from an audience 
of the first prince in Europe ; that woman is a bless- 
ing to me, and I never see her without being the 
better for her company. I am treated in the family 
as if I was a near relation, and have been repeatedly 
invited to call upon them at all' times. You know 
what a shy fellow I am : 1 cannot prevail with my- 
self to make so much use of this privilege, as I am 
sure they intend I should; but, perhaps, this awk- 
wardness will wear off hereafter. It was my earnest 
request, before I left St. Alban's, that whenever it 
might please Providence to dispose of me, I might 
meet with such an acquaintance as I find in Mrs. Tp 
win. How happy it is to believe with a steadfast 
assurance that our petitions are heard, even while 
we «re making them. 



14 MEMOJK OP 

His acquaintance with this amiable woman and her 
family was, as we have seen, quicklj' ripened into an 
ardent friendship, but the melancholy death of Mr. 
Unwin, which was occasioned by a fall from his horse, 
made it necessary that the widow and her son and 
daughter should find another residence, and Olney 
being; fixed on, Cowper removed thither with his af- 
fectionate friends. At his new place of abode he be- 
came acquainted with the Reverend Mr. Newton, and 
spent with him many of the hours which he devoted 
to the tranquillizing contemplation of religious truth. 
The manner in which he passed his time in this re- 
treat is an interesting exemplification of the goodness 
of his nature. The charity of his heart furnished )iim 
with his chief employment. To his own means of 
doing good, the estimation in which he was held 
added the benevolence of others, and he was ap- 
pointed by more than one wealthy person who ad- 
mired his goodness, to administer their alms. It is, 
liowever, to be doubted, as his friend and biographer, 
Mr. Hayley, jvistly observes, whether the life he was 
then leading was not too rechise for the state of his 
mind. But for a long period during his residence at 
Olney, he appears to have been tranquil, and with 
his peculiarly constituted nature, as free as he could 
be from depression. There cannot, perhaps, be a 
better proof of his improved health than the know- 
ledge, that he had about this time to suffer many 
severe trials in the afflictions of his brother and other 
parts of his family. The former, after a long illness, 
fell a victim to the disease, and the subject of our 
memoir lost in him a most kind and aflfectionate as 
well as beloved relative. On looking at the corre- 
spo?)dence of Cowper during this period, we find little 
which could induce us to believe, that either enthii- 
siasm or melancholy had been the consequence of his 
deep and fervent piety. The account wliich he gives 
of his brother's death is calm and thoughtful — ex- 
hibiting only the sublime feelings of a man who had 
just conquered the regrets of nature, by a contempla 
tion of divine truth. 

It was not till several months after the loso of Uiv. 



WILLIAM COW PER. 16 

Drother, i lat Cowper's mind relapsed into its former 
depression. Hitherto it had been not only composed, 
but to a certain degree active. At Mr. Newton's re 
quest, he composed the sixty-eight h>Tnns which ap- 
pear with his initials in the Olney Collection, and had 
originally intended to contribute more, but was pre- 
vented by the sickness to which we have all\ided, and 
which commenced its afflicting attacks in the year 
1773. The patient and devoted kindness, with which 
Mrs. Uuwin attended him during this season of help- 
lessness, aftbrds an affecting picture of female friend- 
ship. Through the many years that his illness lasted, 
his gentle nurse watched over him with an unweary- 
ing constancy, which Cowper himself likened to that 
of a mother, and in doing this he gave all that the 
human heart ran give in gratitude for attention. 

For more than a year the malady continued at its 
height, but after that time his health had an appear- 
ance of improvement, and he began to employ him- 
self in taming the three hares which are celebrated 
in the account he gave of his pursuits. But it was 
not till the year 1780, that we find him regaining 
Bulficient command over himself, to trust his faculties 
with literary exertions, which it is extiaordinai'y 
were nearly all .subsequent to the alarming attack of 
which we are speaking. In the year above-mentioned 
he read considerably, and composed the Nightingale 
and the Glow-Worm, and towards its tennination 
began to write with the serious intention of appear- 
ing before the public as an author. This determina- 
tion, however, he kept known to himself alone, but 
proceeded steadily with his work, and in March 1781, 
♦ Table Talk,' ' The Progress of Error,' ' Truth,' and 
' Expostulation' wei-e ready for the press. The pub- 
lication of these was undertaken by Mr. Johnson, of 
St. Paul's Church-Yard, and the following- season 
they were ushered into the world, with the additional 
compositions of ' Hope,' ' Charity,' • Conversation,' 
and ' Retirement.' 

About the period to which we now allude Cowper 
became acquainted with Lady Austen, and to hei 
wiggestion is owing the existence of the ' Task,' an<?. 



16 MEMOIR OP 

that admirable piece of humour ' John Gilpin.' The 
greater part of the former was completed in Febniary 
1784, and in October it was sent to press. The 
accounts which are given of his situation at this 
period afford a refreshing contrast to the details 
which describe his condition both in the earlier and 
later portions of his existence. In the society of a 
few select friends he now divided his time hetween 
the pleasures of conversation and the gently exciting 
labour of composition. His mind thus gradually 
assumed a more cheerful cast, and was, perhaps, in 
the healthiest state which it was capable of attaining. 

Shortly after the completion of the above named 
works he began the translation of itomer, a produc- 
tion which, whatever merit it possesses, was better 
adapted to furnish the poet with amusement than 
add to his popularity. To be admired in his own 
naked sublimity. Homer must be read by the scholar, 
and in his own language ; to engage the attention 
of readers of a different description he must be 
changed in form and spirit as well as language. 

In 1787, a slight attack of his old complaint made 
it necessary that he should intermit his pursuits, but 
it passed off without seriously affecting him, and lie 
shortly after resumed his work of translating, which 
was completed on the 25th August, 1790. He was 
employed about the same time on an edition oi 
Milton, and soon after became acquainted with his 
well-known biographer, Mr. Hayley, of whom he 
uniformly spoke with the wannest affection. 

Under these circumstances, his spirits continued 
to hold good till the year 1794, when his mind began 
rapidly to sink into its most melancholv state of 
despondency. The health of his watchful friend, 
Mrs.Unwin, had also undergone an alarming change, 
and the united weight of time and sickness had 
brought her to the last stage of helpless and imbecile 
old age. Mr. Hayley and his other affectionate 
acquaintances continued to visit him and use every 
meaiui to restore his health, but their solicitude wa;i 
Tain, and he continued sunk in a melancholy which 
could neither be removed nor alleviated. It was at 



WILLIAM CO XV PER. 17 

iengrth determined to try the experiment of a change 
of air, and his amiable relative, the Rev. Dr. Johnson, 
took upon himself the charge of conducting him into 
Norfolk. While residing at Dunham Lodge, and 
afterwards at Mundsley, his spirits with slight ex- 
ceptions continued in the same state, and though an 
occasional glimpse of hope now and then encoui-aged 
his desponding friends, they at length saw the 
gradual and certain approaches of decay under the 
n>.^st distressine: circumstances in Avhich death can 
visit an intellectual and reixsoning being. Cowper 
had continued to compose several minor pieces ot 
poetry, and to employ himself occasionally in reading 
during some time past, but in January, 1800, Ins 
strength began rapidly to decline, and on the "ISth of 
April of the same year, he yielded up his gentle and 
suffering spirit. 

Morality never found in genius a more devoted 
advocate than Cowper, nor has moral wisdom, in its 
plain and severe precepts, been ever more success- 
fully combined with the delicate spirit of poetry than 
in his works. The austerity of tone in which virtue 
arraigns the conscience is so strongly in contrast 
with the soft and lulling voice of fancy, that we 
rarely expect to see them in harmony. Even wher. 
the muses were worshipped as divinities, and men 
received laws and religion from their lips, they only 
gained their authority by veiling themselves in the 
rich robes of ancient fable, and submitting the pure 
and essential glory of truth, to creations in which 
men might find their passions as well as their spirit 
interested. Their lessons were taught by the side of 
magic fountains, or in the gTeen bowers of leafy 
solitudes — they were heard amid the singing of birds, 
the sighing of the lover's lute, and the mystic voices 
of a thousand attendant ministers of delight. Thus 
they were worshipped because they gave new 
beauty to the world by the light they breathed 
upon its surface, and they were hearkened to 
because they adapted themselves as well to the 
weakness as to the good of man's mind; and, in 
telling of the majesty of nature, and of the might 



18 MEMOIR OP 

that lies hidden in the bosom of truth, invested him 
with the attributes of its divinity. The moral, 
didactic verses of antiquity are almost too plaiu and 
destitute of grace to be received as pretty. The 
writings of Lucretius are philosophical, and have, 
therefore, a splendour about them which belorigs to 
a source different to that from which the etliical 
poet derives his materials of ornament. It is in 
modern times only that morality, as sucli, has been 
successfully invested with the grace of poetry. But 
extensive as has been the popularity of the writers, 
who have succeeded in this species of composition, 
their ntmiher is less than that of any other class. 
Nor is it difficult to trace the causes of this circum- 
stance. Poetry naturally deals in dreams and 
shadows, which, bright and faithful images of reality 
as they may be, are still but dreams and shadows. 
— Let it take only the actual substance of things — 
the present and living forms of the earth uninvested 
with the sunny and glorifying atmosphere of imagi- 
nation — and it loses the property which makes it 
poeti-y. A mind, therefore, which is unendowed 
with that sti-ange faculty by which the airy nothing- 
nesses of an ideal world are moulded into form — or 
with that power, equally sti-ange, by which it can sub- 
limate the things of earth, till they make a part of 
its o\vn ethereal creation-— an intellect ungifted with 
these faculties can never possess the proper materials 
of poetry. But it need not be said that the mind 
they inspire is not likely to employ itself on subjects 
incapable of being invested with the charm which it 
can bestow on others more adapted to its endow- 
ments; nor need it scarcely more to be observed, 
that a simple lesson of morality is not a subject on 
which such a mind is naturally likely to exert its 
powers. WTiatever is plain and obvious to honest 
reason — whatever has been matter of instruction for 
centuries, and is of so fixed a character that it can 
neither be changed nor modified by imagination, can 
only be made a part of poetry by incorporation with 
matter more shadowy and ethereal, and more com- 
pletely under the dominion of the poet's mind. 



WILLIAM COWPEft. 19 

And here ag'ain we find an obstacle to the sue 
cessful production of ethical poetry. Althouifh it ia 
very posiiible for an imaginative writer to blend 
moral precepts with his inventions, it is, it must be 
confessed, far more a^eeable to the true and proper 
nature of poetry, to teach virtue and inculcate its 
sublime truths, by an appeal from the imag^ination 
to the imafrination —by presenting characters already 
made beautiful by the action of noble principle, 
instead of naked principles out of which to invent 
the characters. And so powerful, indeed, is the 
action of the imagination where it exists, that h 
will seldom suffer the mind to operate independently 
of ifc< influence. It takes possession of the thoughts, 
whether they spring from the head or the heart— 
whether they are bom in reason or passion, and it is 
only when the poet has a singular self-possession — a 
rare union of poetical feeling with the energy of cool 
thought, that he willingly and deliberately subjects 
his mind to the composition of moral verse. 

Among the few, the very few, who have possessed 
that gift of a spirit full of the s^^eetness and the 
music of poetry, with this pure morality of purpose, 
is Cowper. The mind of this admirable writer was 
marked with the genuine traits which distinguish a 
poetical from other minds. He is, it is true, not to 
be compared with the great masters of the art, whose 
lofty and creative imaginations place them in a 
sphere of their own, but he had a power of collecting 
the scenes and harmonies of natuie into the focus of 
his O'w-n heart, and of embuing them there with light 
and grace. He had an intensity and delicacy of 
feeling which made him perceive v.'hat is most beau- 
tiful in the complicated character of humanity, and 
he had that intuitive sense of the mind's action, 
which enabled him to present to others the objects 
and sentiments which influence with the greatest 
strength. By these qualities of his intellect, by the 
tenderness of his heart, and the extreme 8^l3cepti- 
bility of his nature, he was -posse^tti of all the 
qualities, with the exceptin of a po^erf>U imagina- 
tion, which form the character ot a p v4r ; and in 



20 MEMOIR OF tOWPER. 

being denied the strong-er excitements or fancy, he 
seems to have been formed by Providence to produce 
the works he composed. He was endowed with aU 
the powers which a poet could want who was to bu 
the moralist of the world — the reprover, but not the 
satirist, of men — the teacher of simple truths, which 
wei'e to be rendered gi'acious without endangering 
their simplicity. 



ORIGINAL PREFACE 
TO TEE FIRST VOLUME. 



When an author, by appearing in print, leqiiests an 
audience of the public, and is upon the point of 
speakinjr for himself, whoever presumes to step 
before him with a preface and to say, ' Nay, but 
hear me first,' should have something' worthy of 
attention to offer, or he will be ji^istly deemed ofh- 
cious and iraperliinent. The judicioiis reader has 
probably, upon other occasions, been beforehand 
with me in this reflection ; and I am not very willing 
it should now be applied to me, however I may seem 
to expose myself to the danger of it. But the thought 
of having my own name perpetuated in connexion 
with the name in the title-page is so pleasing and 
flattering to the feelings of my heart, that I am 
content to risk something for the gratification. 

This preface is not designed to commend the 
Poems to which it is prefixed. My testimony would 
be insufficient for those who are not qualified to 
judge properly for themselves, and unnecessary to 
those who are. Besides, the reasons which render 
it improper and unseemly for a man to celebrate his 
own performances, or those of his nearest relatives, 
will have some influence in suppressing much of 
what he might otherwise wish to say in favour of a 
friend, when that friend is indeed an alter idem, 
and excites almost the same emotions of sensibility 
and affection as he feels for himself. 

It is very probable these Poems may come into the 
hands of some persons, in whom the sight of the 
author's name will awaken a recollection of inci- 
deiits and scenes, which through length of time they 
had almost forgotten. They will be reminded of 
one, who was once the companion of their chosen 
hours, and who set out with them in early life m 
the paths which lead to literary honours, to influ- 
ence, and affluence, with equal prospects of success 
But he was suddenly and powerfully withdrawn 
from those pursuits^ and he Isft them without regret; 



22 PREFACE 

yet not till he had siifficient opportunity of counting 
the cost, and of knowing the value of wliat he gave 
up. If happiness could have been found in classical 
attainments, in an elegant taste, in the exeitions of 
wit, fancy, and genius, and in the esteem and con- 
verse of such persons, as in these respects were most 
congenial with himself, he would have been happy : 
but he was not. He wondered (as thousands in a 
similar situation still do) that he should continue 
dissatisfied, with all the naeans apparently conducive 
to satisfaction within his reach : but in due time the 
cause of his disappointment was discovered to him — 
he had lived without God in the w^orld. In a memo- 
rable hour the wisdom which is from above visited 
his heart. Then he felt himself a wanderer, and 
then he found a guide. Upon this change of views, 
a change of plan and conduct followed of course. 
When he saw the busy and the gay world in its true 
light, he left it with as little reluctance as a prisoner, 
when called to liberty, leaves his dungeon. Not that 
he became a Cjoiic or an Ascetic — a heart filled with 
love to God will assuredly breathe benevolence to 
men. But the turn of his temper inclining him to 
rural life, he indulged it; and the providence of 
God, evidently preparing his way and marking out 
his retreat, he retired into the country. By these 
steps the good hand of God, unknown to me, was 
providing for me one of the principal blessings of my 
life ; a friend and a counsellor, in whose company 
for almost seven years, though we were seldom seven 
successive waking hours separated, I always found 
new pleasure : a friend who was not only a comfort 
to myself, but a blessing to the affectionate poor 
people, among whom I then lived. 

Some tiuii after inclination had thus removed him 
from the harry and the bustle of life, he was still 
more secluded by a long indisposition, and my 
pleasure was succeeded by a proportionable degree 
of anxiety ara concern. But a hope that the God 
whom he served would support him under his afHic- 
tiod and at length vouchsafe him a happy delire- 
rsnce, never forsook me. The desirable crisis, I 
trust, now clearly approaching. The dawn, the 



PREFACE. 23 

presage of returning day, is already arrived. He is 
again enabled to resume his pen, and some of the 
first fruits of his recovery are here presented to the 
public. In his principal subjects the same acumen 
which distinguished him in the early period of his 
life is happily employed in illustrating and enforcing 
the truths of which he received such deep and un- 
alterable impressions in his mattirer years. His 
satire, if it may be called so, is benevolent (like the 
operations of the skilful and humane surgeon, who 
wounds only to heal), dictated by a just regard for 
the honour of God, and indignant grief excited by 
the profligacy of the age, and a tender compassion 
for the souls of men. 

His favourite topics are least insisted on in the 
piece entitled ' Table Talk ;' which therefore, with 
some regard to the prevailing taste, and that those, 
who are govenied by it, may not be discouraged at 
the very threshold from proceeding farther, is placed 
first. In most of the larger Poems which follow, his 
leading desig-n is more explicitly avowed and pur- 
sued. He aims to communicate his o^vn perceptions 
of the truth, beauty, and influence of the religion 
)f the Bible — a religion, which however discredited 
by the misconduct of many, who have not renounced 
the Christian name, proves itself, when rightly 
understood and cordially embraced, to be the grand 
desideratum, which alone can relieve the mind of 
man from painful and unavoidable anxieties, inspire 
it v/ith stable peace and solid hope, and furnish 
those motives and prospects, which, in the present 
state of things, are absolutely necessary to produce 
a conduct worthy of a rational creature, distin- 
guished by a vastness of capacity, which no assem 
blage of earthly good can satisfy, and by a principle 
and preintimation of immortality. 

At a time when hypothesis and canjecture m 
philosophy are so justly exploded, and little is 
considered as deserving the name of knowledge, 
which will not stand the test of experiment, the 
very use of the term experimental in religious 
concernments, is by too many unhappily rejected 
with disgust. But we well know, that they* who 

r 



24 PREFACE. 

affect to despise the inward feelimgs which religious 
persons speak of, and to treat them as enthusiasm 
and folly, have inward feelings of their owti, which, 
though they would, they cannot siippress. We have 
been too long in the secret ourselves, to account the 
proud, the ambitious, or the voluptuous happy. We 
must lose the remembrance of what we once were, 
before we can believe that a man is satisfied with 
himself, merely because he endeavours to appear 
so. A smile upon the face is often but a mask worn 
occasionally, and in company, to prevent, if possible, 
a suspicion of what at the same time is passing in 
the heart. We know that there are people who 
seldom smile when they are alone, who therefore 
are glad to hide themselves in a throng from the 
violence of their own reflections, and who, while by 
their looks and their language they wish to persuade 
us they are happy, would be glad to change their 
conditions with a dog. But in defiance of all their 
efforts, they continue to think, forebode, and tremble. 
This we know, for it has been our own state, and 
therefore we know how to commiserate it in others. 
— From this state the Bible relieved us: when we 
were led to read it with attention, we found our- 
selves described. We learnt the causes of our in- 
quietude — we were directed to a method of relief — 
we tried, and we were not disappointed. 

Deus nobis hac otia fecit. 

We were now certain, that the Gospel of Christ 
is the power of God unto salvation to every one that 
believeth. It has reconciled us to God and to our- 
selves, to our duty and our situation. It is the balm 
and cordial of the present life, and a sovereign 
antidote against the fear of death. 

Sed hactetnts ha:c. Some smaller pieces upon less 
important subjects close the volume. Not one oi 
them, 1 believe, was ^\Titteu with a view to publi 
cation, but 1 was unwilling they should be omitted. 



JOHN NEWTON. 



CItnrres Sijjiare, Hoiton 
Frhnio'-u IS, 1782. 



CONTENTS, 






Pip. 


Table Talk 


S7 


Proarress of Error 




4A 


Truth 




60 


F.xpostulation 




74 


Hope 




92 


Charity 




111 


Conversation 




126 


Retirement 




148 


Tlie Veari-v Distress, or Titliing Time at Stock, in Essex 


168 


Sonnet to Henry Cowper, Esq. 


170 


Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin 


ib. 


On Mrs. Montascn's Feather-Han^insrs 


171 


Verses, supposed to be written bv Alexander Selkirk, during 




his abode in tlie Island of Jiia:) Fernandez 


172 


On tlie promotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq. to the Chancel- 




lorship ,.f England 


174 


Ode to Peace ...... 


175 


Human Fn.iltv 


ib. 


The Modern f'atriot 


176 


On ol)s(rvinn: some names of little note recorded in Itu 




Bioi.ra|.hia Hritannica .... 


177 


Report of an adiiidi^ed Case, not to be found in any of tn. 




Books .... 


ib. 


On the Burning of Lord Mansfield's Library 


178 


On tlie same . . . . ' . 


179 


The Love of the World reproved 


ib. 


f)n the Death of Ladv Throckmorton's Bullfinch 


180 


The Rose 


1S2 


The Doves 


183 


A Fable 


18^1 


A Comparison ...... 


16.5 


Another, addressed to a Yonng Ladv . 


186 


The Poet's New-year's gift . ' . 


ib. 


Ode to Apollo . , • . 


1H7 


PairhiiT ■lime anticipated. A Fable 

The Dngand the Vtater-Lilv .... 


188 


189 


The I'o.t, the Oyster, and tlie Sensitive Plant 


191 


The Shrubbery 


193 


The Winter Nosesray 


ib. 


Mutual Forbearance necessa^^' to the Happiness of the Mar 




/ ried State . . ' . 


194 


l/ The Neirro's Complaint .... 




Pity for Poor African* ..... 


197 


JThp Mornins Dream 


1!)9 


A-'^The Nightiiiffale and Glow-worm 


2C0 


'^ On a Goldfinch staned to Death in his Cage 


201 


The Pineapple ami the Bee . 


202 


Horace, Book II. Ode 10. .... 


203 


A Reflection on the foregoing Ode 


204 


The Lilv and tiie Rose . . . . 


ib. 


Idem Liitiue Redditura . . . . 


205 


The Poplar Field 


206 


Idem Latine Reddrlum 


fo. 


Voturo 


JO- 


B 

1 
li 


.1 



Translalions from Vincent Bcume, 



CkJndela 

Tiie Glow-worm 

Cornici'la 

Tilt Jawkdaw . . 

Ad Gril.uni. Anacreonticuni 

The Cricket . 

Simile HRit In Simile 

The I'arrot 



TranslaHor. of Prior's Chloe and Eivphelia 
Tb.p Hist<iry of John Gilpin 
Epistlf to an afflicted I'rotestaiit Lady in France 
To the Rev. W. C. Unwin 



PSRI 



207 
208 
209 

ib. 



The TASK, in Six Books: 

Book I. Th^' Sofa . .... 225 

II. The Tinu'-Piece . . . . .244 

III. The Garden •->d4 

IV. The Winter Evening .... Sk'S 
V. The Winter IMorninsr Walk . . . 304 

VI. The Winter Walk at Noon . . . 32!5 

Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. ..... 3)2 

Tirocini'.ni! : or, a Review of Schools . . . 3-54 

To the Rev. Mr. Newton 377 

Catharina . . . . . . -378 

The M<>rali?.er ror reeled . . . . . 379 

The Faithful Bird 381 

The Needless Alarm . . ... 382 

Boadieea ........ 3SS 

, .Heroism 387 

i/ On the Receipt of my Mo'her's Picture out of Norfolk . 389 
Friendship . . . . . . .392 

On a Mischievous Bull, -.vhich the Owner of him Bold at the 
Auliinr's instil lice . . . . . .398 

Annus Meim.rabilis, 1789. Written in Commemoration of his 
Mnjrstv's hapjiv Recovery . . . . .399 

H yum for the ii.se of the Sunday School at Olney . . 401 

Stan/as subjoined to a Bill of Mortality for the Year !787 . 402 
The same for I7H8 . . . . . .403 

The .san.e for 1789 . . . . . .404 

The same for 1790 405 

The same for 1792 . . . . . .407 

The same for 1793 408 

Epitafih on Mr. Hamilton . . . . .409 

Epitaph on a Hare . . . . . . 410 

Epitaphiiiui Altenim . . . . . .411 

Account of the Author's Treatmunt of Htttt , • Mk 



TABLE TALK. 



*Si te forte meae sfravis uret sarcina cliartae, 
Abjicito.'— Wor. Lib. i. Epist. 13. 

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built 
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt ; 
The deeds, that men admire as half divine. 
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. 
Strange doctrine this ! that without scruple teara 
The laurel that the very lightning spares ; 
Brings down the warrior's troi)hy to the dust. 
And eats into his bloody sword like rust. 

B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, 
Pierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war: 
And never meant the rule should be applied 

To him that fights with justice on his side. 

Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, 
Reward his memory, dear to every muse, 
Who, with a courage of inshaken root, 
In honour's field advancing his firm foot. 
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws. 
And will prevail or perish in her cause. 
'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes 
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows. 
And when recording History displays 
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient day*; 
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, 
Where duty placed them, at their country's side; 
The man, that is not moved with what he reads, 
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds. 
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave. 
Is base in kind, and bom to be a slave. 

But let eternal infamy pursue 
The wretch to nought but his ambition true : 
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. 
Think yourself station 'd on a towering rock. 
To see a people scatter'd like a flock. 
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, 
With aU the savage thirst a tiger feels; 



28 TABLE TALK. 

Then ^■ie•w him self-proclaim'd in a gazette, 
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet. 
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced. 
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced ! 
llie glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour, 
And Death's o-wm scythe, would better speak his po^* *■ 
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead. 
With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade : 
Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress. 
The same their occupation and success. 

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man ; 
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan : 
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, 
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. 

B. Seldom, alas ! the power of logic reigns 
With much sufficiency in royal brains ; 
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone, 
Wanting its proper base to stand upon. 

Man made for kings ! those optics are but dim, 
That tell you so — say, rather, they for him. 
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought. 
Could they or would they reason as they ought 
The diadem, with mighty' projects lined. 
To catch renown by ruining mankind. 
Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store. 
Just what the toy will sell for and no more. 
Oh ! bright occasions of dispensing good. 
How seldom used, how little understood 
To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward; 
Keep Vice restrain'd behind her double guard; 
To quell the faction that affronts the throne. 
By silent magnanimity alone ; 
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts ; 
Watch every beam Philosophy imparts; 
To give Religion her unbridled scope, 
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope ; 
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd. 
To keep the matrimonial bond unstaiu'd ; 
Covetous only of a virtuous praise ; 
His life a lesson to the land he sways ; 
To touch the sword with conscientious awe, 
N«r draw it but when duty bids him draw ; 



TABLE TALK. 29 

To sheathe it in the peace-restoring- close. 
With joy beyond what victory bestows ; — 
Bless'd coiuitry, where these kindly glories shine! 
iJless'd England, if this happiness be thine I 

A. Guard what you say ; the patriotic tribe 
Will sneer and charge you with a bribe. — B. A bribe? 
The worth of his three kingdoms I defy. 
To lure me to the baseness of a lie : 
And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast). 
The lie that flatters I abhor the most. 
Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign ; 
But he that loves him has no need to feign. 

A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'd, 
Seems to imply a censure on the rest. 

B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, 
Ask'd when in hell to see the royal jail ; 
Approved their method in all other things : 

But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? 

There — said the guide— the group is full in view. 

Indeed ? — replied the don — there are but few. 

His black, interpreter the charge disdain'd — 

Few, fellow 1 — there are all that ever reign'd. 

Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike 

The guilty and not guilty both alike : 

I grant the sarcasm is too severe. 

And we can readily refute it here ; 

While Alfred's name, the father of his age. 

And tne sixth Edward's, grace the historic page. 

A. Kings then, at last, have but the lot of all : 
By their own conduct they must stand or fall. 

B. True. While they live, the courtly laureate paya 
His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise ; 

And many a dunce whose fingers itch to write. 

Adds as he can his tributai-y mite. 

A subject's faTilts a subject may proclaim, 

A monarch's errors are forbidden game ! 

Thus, free from censure, overawed by fear. 

And praised for virtues, that they scorn to wear, 

The fleeting forms of majesty engage 

Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage ; 

Then leave their crimes for history to scan. 

And ask, with busy scorn, Was this the man? 



30 TABLE TALK. 

I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon 
Ohseqiuous from the cradle to the throne ; 
Before whose infant eyes the flatterer hows, 
And binds a wreath about their baby brows , 
Whom education stiflFens into state, 
Ai)d death awakens from that dream too late 

Oh! if Servility, Avith supple knees. 
Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please ; 
If smooth Dissimulation, skill'd to grace 
A devil's purpose with an angel's face ; 
If smiling peeresses, and simpering peers. 
Encompassing his throne a few short years; 
If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed, 
That wants no driving and disdains the lead ; 
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks, 
Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks, 
Shouldering and standing as if struck to stone, 
While condescending majesty looks on ! — 
If monarchy consist in such base things. 
Sighing-, I say again, I pity kings! 

To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, 
E'en when he labours for his country's good ; 
To see a band, call'd pati-iot, for no cause 
But that they catch at popular applause. 
Careless of all the anxiety he feels. 
Hook disappointment on the public wheels; 
With all their flippant fluency of tongue, 
Most confident, when palpably most wrong ; — 
If this be kingly, then farewell for me 
All kingship ; and may I be poor and free ! 

To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs, 
To which th' unwash'd artificer repairs 
To indulge his genius after long fatigue, 
By diving into cabinet intiigue 
(For what kings deem a toil, as well t ley ma>, 
To him is relaxation and mere play) ; 
To win no praise when well-wrought plans preva.l 
But to be rixdely censured when they fail ; 
To doubt the love his favourites may pretend, 
And in reality to find no friend ; 
If he indulge a cultivated taste, 
His galleries with the works of art well grace«i 
To hear it call'd extravagance and waste; 



TABLE TALK. 31 

If these attendauts. and if such as these 
Miuit follow royalty, then welcome ease; 
However hmnble and confined the sphere, 
Happy the state, that has not these to fear. 

A. Thus men, whose thouglits contemplative hava 
On situations, that they never felt, [dwelt 
Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust 

Of dreaming- study and pedantic rust. 
And prate and preach about what others prove. 
As if the world and they Avere hand and glove. 
Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares ; 
They have their weig-ht to cairy, subjects theirs j 
Poets, of all men, ever least regret 
Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. 
Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse 
The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, 
No bard, howe'er ma.jestic, old or new. 
Should claim my fix'd attention more than you. 

B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay 
To turn the course of Helicon that way; 

Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide 
Should purl amidst the traihc of Gheapside, 
Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse 
The leathern ears of Stock-jobbers and Jews. 

A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch tlie key of rhyme 
To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. 
When ministers and ministerial arts ; 

Patriots, who love good places at their hearts; 
When admirals, extoU'd for standing still. 
Or doing nothing with a deal of skill ; 
Generals who will not conquer when they may. 
Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay ; 
When Freedom, wounded almost to despair. 
Though Discontent alone can find out where ; 
Whefi themes like these employ the poet's tongue, 
1 hear as mute as if a siren sung. 
Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains 
A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains : 
That were a theme might animate the dead. 
And move the lips of poets cast in lead. 

B. The cause, though worth the search, may yet 
Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. [elud« 



32 TAB1,E TALK. 

Tliey take perhaps a. weli-directed aim, 

Wlio seek, it in his climate and his frame. 

Liberal in all things else, yet Natuie here 

VV'itli stern severity deals out the year. 

Winter invades the spring:, and often pours 

A chilling- flood on summer's drooping flowers ; 

Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, 

Ung-enial blasts attending curl the streams : 

The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork 

With double toil, and shiver at their work; 

Thus with a rigoui-, for his good design 'd. 

She rears her favourite man of all mankind. 

His foiin robust and of elastic tone, 

Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone, 

Supplies with wai-m activity and force 

A mind well-lodged, and masculine of course 

Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires 

And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires, 

Patient of constitutional control, 

He bears it with meek manliness of soul; 

But, if Authority grow wanton, woe 

To him that treads upon liis free-born toe ; 

One step beyond the boundary of the laws 

Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause 

Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered. 

Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard : 

And in his cage, like paiTot fine and gay. 

Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. 

Born in a climate softer far than our"" 
Not fonn'd like us, with such Herculean powerdj 
The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk. 
Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, 
Is always happy, reign wlioever may, 
And laughs the sense of misery fai away ; 
He drinks his simple beverage with a g"ust. 
And, feasting on an onion and a crust, 
W^e never feel the alacrity and joy 
With which he shouts and carols Vive le Roil 
Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee. 
As if he heard his king say — Slave, be free. 

Thus happiness depends, as Nature shews, 
Less on exterior things than most suppose. 



TABLli TALK. Zd 

V^igilant over all that he h;is made 
Kind Providence attends witli -racious aid ; 
Bids equity throughout his works prevail, 
And weighs the iiatioiis in an even scale ; 
He can encourage Slavery to a smile, 
And fill with discontent a British isle. 

A. Freeman and slave then, if the case be siicii, 
Stand on a level; and you prove too much : 

If all men indiscriminately share 

His fostei-ing power, and tutelary care, 

As well be yoked by Despotism's hand, 

As dwell at large in Britain's chaiter'd land. 

B. No. Freedom has a thou.>and channs to sliew.. 
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. 

The mind attains, beneath her happy reign. 

The growth that nature meant she should attain ; 

The varied fields of science, ever new. 

Opening and wider opening on her view. 

She ventures onward with a prosperous force. 

While no base fear impedes her in her course. 

Religion, richest favour of the skies. 

Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyest^y 

No shades of superstition blot the day. 

Liberty chases all that gloom away; 

The soul emancipated, unoppress'd. 

Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best. 

Learns much ; and to a thousand listening minds 

Communicates with joy the good she finds : 

Coui-age in arms, and ever prompt to shew 

His manly forehead to the fiercest foe; 

Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace. 

His spirits rising as his toils increase, 

Guards well what arts and industry have won, 

And Freedom claims him for her first-bom son. 

Slaves fight for what were better cast away — 

The chain that binds then^, and a tyrant's sway : 

But they that fight for freedom, undertake 

The noblest cause mankind can have at stake — 

Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call 

A blessing — freedom is the pledge of all. 

Liberty ! the prisoner's pleasing drecm. 

The poet's muse, h's passion, and his theme ; 

B2 t 



S4 TABLE TALK. 

Geniiis is thine, and tbou art Fancy's nnrse; 

Lost without thee the eniioblint^ powers of ^erse, 

Heroic song from thy free touch accjuires 

Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires : 

Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air. 

And I will sing, if Liberty be tliere ; 

And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, 

In Airic's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. 

A. Sing where you please ; in such a cause I ^rant 
An English poet's privilege to rant; 

But is not Freedom — at least is not ours 
Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, 
Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound, 
Spread anarchy and terror all around ? 

B. Agreed. Bat would you sell or slay your horM 
For bounding and curvetting in his course ? 

Or if, when ridden with a careless rein. 

He break away and seek the distant plain '/ 

No. His higrh mettle, under good control. 

Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal 

Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts ; 
Let magistrates alert perform their parts ; 
Not skulk or put on a prudential mask, 
As if their duty were a desperate task ; 
Let active laws apply the needful curb, 
To guard the peace, that Riot would disturb; 
And Liberty, preserved from wild excess. 
Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 
When Tumult lately burst his prison-door. 
And set plebeian thousands in a roar; 
When he usurp'd Authority's just place, 
And dared to look his master in the face i 
When the rude rabble's watchword was — Destroy, 
And blazing London seem'd a second Troy ; 
Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head. 
Beheld their progress with the deepest dread ; 
Blush'd, that effects like these she should produce. 
Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. 
She loses in such storms Ifer very nanffe. 
And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame- 
Incomparable gem! thy worth untold; [sold; 
Cheap though blood-bought, and thrown away wheu 



TABLE TALK. 3& 

May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend 
Betray thee, while professinj^ to defend! 
Prize it, ye ministers, ye monarchs spare ; 
Ye patriots ^ard it with a miser's care. 

A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found 
Where most they flourish, upon English ground, 
The country's need have scantily supplied, 

And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. 

B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age, 
Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 
In him Demosthenes was heard again : 
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain ; 
She cioth'd him with authority and awe, 
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace. 
And all his country beaming in his face 

He stood as some inimitable hand 

Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. 

No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose 

Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose; 

And every venal stickler for the yoke 

Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 

Such men are raised to station and command, 
When providence means mercy to a laud. 
He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe 
Skill to direct, and stiength to strike the blow; 
To manage with address, to seize with power, 
The crisis of a dark decisive hour: 
So Gideon eam'd a victory not his o^vn ; 
Subserviency his praise, and that alone. 

Poor England! thou art a devoted deer. 
Beset with every ill but that of fear. 
Thee nations hunt ; all mark thee for a prey ; 
They swarm around thee, and thou stand 'st at bay. 
Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd. 
Once Chatham saved thee ; but who saves thee nex« 
Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along 
All that should be the boast of British song. 
'Tis not the wreath, that once adorn'd thy brow, 
The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. 
Our ancestry, a gallant Christian race 
Patterns of every virtue, every grace. 



36 TABLE TALK. 

Confess'd a God; they kneel'd before they fought 
And praised him in the victories he wrought. 
Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth 
Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; 
Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies. 
Is but the fire without the sacrifice. '' 

The stream that feeds the well-spring of the heart . 
Not more invigorates life's noblest part, 
Than virtue quickens, with a warmth divine, 
The powers that Sin has brought to a decline. 

A. The inestimable Estimate of Browoi 
Rose like a paper kite, and charni'd the tov^ni ; 
But measures, plann'd and executed well, 
Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. 
He trod the vei'y self-same ground you tread, 

And Victory refitcd all he said. ./, 

B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiaa.. s? 
Its error, if it eiT'd, was merely this — 

He thought the dying hour already come, 
Ai^d a complete recovery struck him dumb. 

But that effeminacy, fully, lust, 
Enei-vate and enfeeble, and needs must; 
And that a nation, shamefidly debased. 
Will be despised, and trampled on at last, 
Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew. 
Is truth, if history itself be true. 
There is a time, and Justice marks the date, 
For long-forbearing Clemency to wait ; 
That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt 
Is punish'd, and down comes the thunderbolt 
If Mercy then put by the threatening blow. 
Must she perfojTn the same kind office noiv? 
May she ! and, if offended Heaven be still 
Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 
'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, 
The tempest of tumultuary joys. 
Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 
Will win her visits, or engage her stay; 
Prayer only, and the penitential tear, 
Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. 

But when a country (one that I could name; 
In prostitution sinks the sen^e of shame ; 



TABLE TALK. ttt 

When infamous Venality, grown bold, 
Writes on his bosom, to be let or sold ; 
When Perjury, that Heaven-defying vice. 
Sell:? oriths by tale, and at the lowest price ; 
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, 
To turn a penny in the way of trade ; 
When Avarice starves (and never hides his face) 
Two or three milliojis of the human race, 
/bid iiot a tongue inquires, how, where, or when, 
Thouiih conscience will have twinges now and then j 
When profanation of the sacred cause 
In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, 
Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost. 
In all, that wars against that title most; 
What follows next, let cities of great name, 
And regions long since desolate proclaim. 
Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, 
Speak to the present times, and times to come ; 
They cry aloud, in every careless ear. 
Stop, while you may ; suspend your mad career ; 
O learn from our example and our fate, 
Learn wisdom and repentance, ere too late ! 

Not only Vice disposes and prepares 
The mind that slumbers sweetly in her snares, 
To s..i)i)p to Tyraxmy's usurp'd command. 
And oend her polish'd neck beneath his hand 
(A dire effect by one of Nature's laws, 
Unchangeably connected with its cause) ; 
But Providence himself will intervene. 
To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene. 
All are his instruments ; each form of war, 
Wliat burns at home, or threatens from afar, 
Nature in arms, her elements at sti'ife. 
The storms that overset the joys of life. 
Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land, 
And waste it at the bidding of his hand. 
He gives the word, and mutiny soon roars 
In all her gates, aiid shakes her distant shores; 
The standards of all nations are unfurl'd ; 
She has one foe, and that one foe the world; 
And, if he doom that people with a frown. 
And mark them with a seal of v%Tatb press'd d«W» 



38 TABLE TALK. 

Obduracy takes place : callous and tough, 

rhe reprobated race grows judgment-proof : 

3arth shakes beneath them, and Heaven roars above ; 

But nothing- scares them from the course they love- 

To the lascivious pipe and wanton song 

That cliarm down fear, they frolic it along. 

With mad rapidity and unconcern, 

Down to the gulf, from which is no return. 

They tiiist in navies, and their navies fail — 

God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! 

Tbey tiiist in armies, and their courage dies; 

In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies : 

But all they trust in withers, as it must, 

When He commands, in whom they place no trust 

Vengeance at last pours dov/n upon their coast 

A long despised, but now victorious, host ; 

Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge 

The noble sweep of all their privilege ; 

Gives Liberty the last, the mortal shock ; 

Slips the slave's collar on, and siiaps the lock. 

A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach: 
Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach i 

B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire 
The muse imparts, and can command the l>Te, 
Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, 
Whate'er the theme, +-!iat others never feel. 

If human woes her soft attention claim, 

A tender sympathy pervades the frame ; 

She pours a sensibility divine 

Along the nerve of every feeling line. 

But if a deed, not tamely to be borne, 

Fire indignation and a sense of scorn. 

The strings are swept with such a power, so loud, 

The storm of music shakes the astonish'd crowd. 

So when remote futurity is brought 

Before the keen inquiry of her thought, 

A terrible sagacity informs 

The poet's heart ; he looks to distant storms ; 

He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers : 

And, arm'd with strength surpassing human powers 

Seizes events as yet unknowTi to man, 

Aud darts his soul into the dawning plan. 



TABLE TALK. 39 

Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name 
Of prophet and of poet was the same ; 
Hence British poets too the priesthood shared. 
And every hallow'd Druid was a bard. 
But no prophetic fires to me helong ; 
I play with syllables, and sport in song. 

A. At Westminster, where little poets strive 
To set a distich upon six and five. 

Where Discipline helps opening buds of sense. 
And makes his pupils proud with silver penct, 
I was a poet too ; but modem taste 
Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste. 
That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, 
Without a creamy smoothness has no charms. 
Thus, all success depending on an ear, 
And thinking I might purchase it too dear. 
If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, 
And truth cut short to make a period round, 
I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse 
Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. 

B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit. 

And some wits flag through fear of losing it. 
Give me the line that ploughs its stately course 
Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force 
That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart. 
Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 
When Labour and when Dulness, club in hand, 
Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand. 
Beating alternately in measured time. 
The clock-work tintinahulura of rhjTne, 
Exact and regular the sounds wiU be ; 
But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. 
From him, who rears a poem lank and long. 
To him who strains his all into a song ; 
Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air. 
Ail birks and braes, though he was never there ; 
Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great pains. 
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; 
A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke — 
An art contrived to advertise a joke. 
So that the jest is clearly to be seen 
Not in the words— but in the gap between: 



40 TABLE TALK. 

Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, 
The substitute for genius, sen<e, and wit. 

To dally much with subjects mean and low 
Proves that the mind is weak , or makes it so: 
Neglected talents rust into dt^cay, 
And every eflbrt ends in push-pin play. 
The man, that means success, should soar above 
A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove ; 
Else, summoning- the muse to such a theme. 
The fruit of all her labour is whipp'd cream. 
As if an eagle flew aloft, and then — 
Stoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren. 
As if the poet, puiposing to wed. 
Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. 

Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear 'd, 
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was beard: 
To carry Nature lengths unknown before, 
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. 
Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times, 
And shot a dayspring into distant climes. 
Ennobling every region that he chose ; 
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose ; 
And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass'd, 
Emerged all splendour, in our isle at last. 
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, 
Then shew far off their shining plumes again. 

A. Is genius only found in epic lays? 
Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. 
Make their heroic powers your own at once. 
Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. 

B. These were the chief: each interval of night 
Was graced with many an undulating light. 

In less illustrious bards his beauty shone 
A meteor, or a star •, in these, the sun. 

The nightingale may claim the topmost bough. 
While the poor grasshopper must chii-p below. 
Like him unnoticed, 1, and such as I, 
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly ; 
Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land. 
An ell or two of prospect we command ; 
But never peep beyond the thorny bound, 
Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round* 



TABLE TALK. 41 

111 Eden, ere yet innocence of heait 
Had faded, poetry was not an art : 
Language above all teachinsr, or, if taught, 
Only by gratitude and glowing thought, 
Elegant as simplicity, and warm 
As ecstasy, unmanacled by fnnn ; 
Not prompted, as in our degenerate days. 
By low ambition and the thirst of praise ; 
Was natural as is the flowing stream, 
And yet magnificent— a God the theme ! 
That theme on Earth exhausted, though above 
'Tis found as everlasting as his love. 
Man lavish'd all his thou-hts on human things- 
The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings. 
But still, while Viitue kindled his delight. 
The song was moral, and so far was right. 
'Twas thus, till Luxury seduced the mind 
To joys less innocent, as less refined ; 
Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal ; he crown'd 
The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound 
His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field 
Of wild imagination, and there reel'd, 
The victim of his own lascivious fires, 
And, dizzy unth delight, profaned the sacred wires. 
Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome 
This bedlam part ; and others nearer home. 
When Cromwell fought for power, and while he 
The proud protector of the power he gain'd, [reign'd 
Religion, harsh, intoleraiit, austere, 
Parent of manners like herself severe, 
Drew a rough copy of the Christian face. 
Without the smile, the sweetness, or tlie grace; 
The dark and sullen humour of the time 
Judged every eftbrt of the muse a crime ; 
Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast. 
Was lumber in an age so void of taste. 
But when the second Charles assumed the sway. 
And arts revived beneath a softer day. 
Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, 
The mind, released from too constrained a nerve, 
Flew to its first position Vv-ith a spring, 
That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasmte ring'. 



42 TABLE TALK. 

riis court, the dissolute and hateful school 
Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, 
Swannd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid 
With brutal lust, as ever Circe made. 
From these a long succession, in the rage 
Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age ; 
Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress 
The abuses of her sacred charge, the press. 
The muse instructed a well-nurture .1 train 
Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain. 
And claim the palm for purity of song. 
That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. 
Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense, 
That neither gave nor would endure offence, 
Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen. 
The puppy pack, that had defiled the scene. 

In front of these came Addison. In him. 
Humour in holiday and sightly trim 
Sublimity, and attic taste combined, 
To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 
Then Pope, as harmony itself exact. 
In verse well disciplined, complete, compact. 
Gave virtue and morality a gi-ace. 
That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face. 
Levied a tax of wonder and applause. 
E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws. 
But he (his musical finesse was such, 
So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) 
Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; 
And every warbler has his tune by heart. 
Nature imparting her satiric gift, 
Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, 
With droll sobriety they raised a smile 
At Folly's cost, themselves unmoved the whUe. 
That constellation set, the world in vain 
Must hope to look upon their like agam. 

A. Are we then left B. Not wholly in the dark 

Wit now and thjn, struck smartly, shews a spark, 
Sufficient to redeem the modern race 
From total night and absolute disgrace. 
While servile trick and imitative knack 
Confine the million in the beaten ti-ack. 



TABLE TALK. 43 

Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, 
Snuffs lip the wind, and flings himself abroad. 

Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one, 
Short his career indeed, but ably i-un ; 
Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers. 
In penury consumed his idle hours ! 
And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown. 
Was left to spring by rigour of his owai. 
Lifted at length, by dignity of thought 
And dint of genius, to an affluent lot. 
He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap. 
And took, too often, there his easy nap. 
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth, 
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. 
Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse. 
Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force. 
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit. 
Always at speed, and never drawing bit. 
He struck the l^Te in such a careless mood, 
And so disdain'd the rules he understood, 
The laurel seem'd to wait on his command. 
He suatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand. 
Nature, exerting an unwearied power. 
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower; 
Spreads the fresh verdure of the fields, and lead? 
The dancing Naiads thro'.igh the dewy meads; 
She fills profuse ten thousand little throats 
With music, modulating all their notes; 
And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds unknown 
With artless airs and concerts of her own : 
But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought. 
Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; 
Fancy, that, from the bow that spans the sky. 
Brings colours, dipp'd in heaven, that never die ; 
i soul exalted above earth, a mind 
Skill'd in the characters that form mankind; 
And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd. 
Looks to the westward from the dappled east. 
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose. 
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close : 



44 TABLE TALK. 

An eye like his to catch the distant goal: 
Or, ere the wheels of verse be-in to roll, 
Lite his to shed illuminating rays 
On every scene and subjet-t it surveys: 
Thus grraced, the man as.^orts a poet's name. 
And the world cheerfully admits the claim. 

Pity Religion has so seldom found 
A skilful g-uide into poetic gTOund ! 
The flowers would sprina: wliere'er she deign'd to 
And every muse attend her in her way. [stray 

Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming- friend, 
And many a compliment ]>olitely penn'd ; 
But, unattired in that becoming vest 
Religion weaves for her, and half iindress'd, 
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlora, 
A wintry figure, like a witlier'd thorn. 
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped ; 
Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread. 
Satire has long since done his best; and cursed 
And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst; 
Fancy has sported all her powers away 
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play; 
And 'tis the sad com])laint, and almost true, 
Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 
'Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire. 
Touch 'd with a coal from Heaven, assume the lyre 
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung. 
With more than mortal music on his tongue. 
That He, who died below, and reigns above, 
Inspires the song, and that his name is Love 

For, after all, if merely to beguile, 
15 V flowing numbers and a flowery syle. 
The tfedium that the lazy rich endxire, 
Wliicb now and then sweet poetry may cure 
Or, if to seo the name of idle self^ 
Stamp d on the well-bound quarto, grace the sbelf 
To float a bubide on the breath of Fame, 
Piompt his endeavour and engage his aim; 
Defeased to servile purposes of pride, 
How are the powers of genius misapplied! 
i'iie gift, wliose office is the Giver's praise, 
To trace him in his word, his works, hid waju. 




# 




PROGRESS OP KRROR. 
Then spread the rich discovery, and invito 
Mankind to share in the divine delight; 
Distorted from its use and just design, 
To make the pitiful possessor shine. 
To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair 
Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, 
Is profanation of the basest kind — 
Proof of a triflinir and a worthless mind. 
A. Hail Sternhold, then; and Hopki:is, hail — 
B. Amen. 
If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen ; 
If acrimony, slander, and abuse, 
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce ; 
Though Butler's wit. Pope's numbers, Prior's ease. 
With all that fancy can invent to please, 
Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall. 
One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. 

A. 'T would thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, 
To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. 

B. No matter — we could shift when they were lioi 
And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot. 



PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

Si quid loquar audiendum.— //or. Lib. sv. ()d. a. 
Sing, muse (if such a tneme, so dark, so long, 
May find a muse to grace it with a song). 
By what unseen and unsuspected arts 
'^he serpent EiTor twines round human hearts ; 
fell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades 
That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades. 
The poisonous, black, insinuating worm 
Successfully conceals her loathsome form. 
I'ake, if ye can, ye careless and supine, 
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine t 
Truths, that the theorist could never i-eacli. 
And observation taught me, I would teach. 
Not all, whose eloquence the fancy liiis. 
Musical as the chime of tinkling rilis. 



46 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

Weak to perform, thoug^h mighty to pretend. 
Can trace her mazy windings to their end ; 
Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure. 
Prevent the danger or prescribe the cure. 
The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear. 
Palls soporific on the listless ear ; 
Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display 
Shines as it runs, but grasp'd at slips away. 

Placed for his trial on this bustling stage. 
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age. 
Free in his will to choose or to refuse, 
Man may improve the crisis, or abuse ; 
Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan. 
Say to what bar amenable were man ? 
With naught in charge, he could betray no trust; 
And, if he fell, would fall because he must ; 
If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike. 
His recompense in both unjust alike. 
Divine authority within his breast 
Brings every thought, word, action to the test; 
Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, 
As Reason or as Passion takes the reins. 
Heaven from above, and Conscience from within. 
Cries in his startled ear — Abstain from sin ! 
The v.'orld around solicits his desire, 
And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire ; 
While, all his piirposes and steps to guard. 
Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward; 
And Pleasure brings as surely in her train 
Remorse, and Sorrow, and vindictive Pain. 

Man, thus endued with an elective voice, 
Must be supplied with objects of his choice ; 
Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, 
Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight ; 
Those open on the spot their honey'd store ; 
These call him loudly to pursuit of more. 
His unexhausted mine the sordid vice 
Avarice shews, and virtue is the price. 
Here various motives his ambition raise — 
Power, pomp and splendour, and the thirst of praise; 
There Beauty wooet him -vith expanded arms; 
E'en Bacchanalian madness has its charms. 



PROGRESS OF ERROR. 47 

Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined 
Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, 
Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth. 
Or lead him devious from the path of truth; 
Hourly allurements on his passions press, 
Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess. 

Hark! how it floats upon the dewy air I 
what a dying, dying close was there ! 
'Tis harmony from yon sequesterd bower. 
Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hourf 
Long ere the charioteer of day had run 
His morning coiu'se, the enchantment was begun; 
And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, 
Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 

Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent. 
That virtue points to? Can a life thus spent 
Leaci to the bliss she promises the wise, 
Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the 

skies ? 
Ye devotees to your adored employ. 
Enthusiasts, dioink with an unreal joy, 
Love makes the music of the bless'd above. 
Heaven's harmony is universal love ; 
And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combinedi 
And lenient as soft opiates to the mind. 
Leave Vice and Folly unsubdued behind. 

Gray dawn appears ; the sportsman and his train 
Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ; 
*Tis he, the Nimrod of the jieighbouring lairs; 
Save that his scent is less acute than theirs. 
For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, 
True beagle as the stanchest hound he keeps. 
Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene. 
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean; 
The joy, the danger, and the toil o'erpays — 
'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 
Again impetuous to the field he flies, 
Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies; 
Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home 
Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom. 

Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place. 
Lights of the world, and stars of human race; 



48 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

But if eccentric ye fors.'ike your sphere, 

Prodiijies ominous, and view'd with fear; 

The conket's baneful influence is a dream; 

Yours, real and pernicious in the extreme. 

What then! — are appetites and lusts laid do^vn, 

With the same ease that man puts on his gowTi ? 

Will Avarice and Concupiscence . i\ e place, [Grace 1 

Charm'd by the sounds — Your Reverence, or Your 

No. But his ow^n engag'ement binds him fast: 

Or, if it does not, brands him to the last 

What atheists call him — a designins? knave, 

A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. 

Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, 

A cassock 'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest; 

He from Italian songsters takes his cue : 

Set Paul to Music, he shall quote him too. 

He takes the field, the master of the pack 

Cries — Well done, saint! and claps him on the back 

Is this the path of sanctity .' Is this 

To stand a waymark in the road to bliss? 

Himself a wanderer from the naiTOW way. 

His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray? 

Go, cast your orders at your bishop's feet, 

Sen 1 your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth street I 

Tlie sacred function in your hands is made — 

Sad sacrilege ! no function, but a trade ! 

Occiduus is a pastor of renown, 
When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath do-wn, 
With wire and catgtit he concludes the day, 
Quavering and semiquavering care away. 
The full concerto swells upon your ear ; 
All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear 
The Babylonian tyrant with a nod 
Had summon 'd them to serve his golden god. 
So well that though*^ the employment seems to suit,- 
Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. 
O fie ! 'tis evangelical and pure : 
Observe each face, how sober and demure ! 
Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien 
Chins fallen, and not an e^e-ball to be seen. 
Still 1 insist, though music heretofore 
Haa charm'd me much (not e'en Occiduus more), 



PROGRESS OF ERROR. ^ 

Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet 

For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. 

Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock. 

Resort to this example as a rock; 

There stand and justify the foul abuse 

Of sabbath-hours with plausible excuse 1 

If apostolic gravity be free 

To play the fool on Sundays, why not we? 

If he the tinkling harpsichord regards 

As inoifensive, what offence in cards? 

Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay ; 

Laymen have leave to dance if parsons play. 

Oh Italy!— thy sabbaths will be soon 
Our sabbaths, closed with mummery and btiffoon. 
Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene* 
Ours parcell'd out, as thine have ever been 
God's worship and the mountebank between. 
What says the prophet? Let that day be bless'd 
With holiness and consecrated rest. 
Pastime and business both it should exclude, 
And bar the door the moment they intrude : 
Nobly distinguisli'd above all the six 
By deeds, in which the world must never mix. 
Hear him again. He calls it a delight, 
A day of luxury observed aright. 
When the glad soul is made Heaven's welcome 

guest. 
Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. 
But triflers are engaged, and cannot come ; 
Their answer to the call is, — Not at home. 

O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain. 
The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! 
Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd die 
The yawning chasm of indolence supply! 
Then to the dance, and make the sober moon 
Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon. 
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball. 
The snug close party, or the splendid hall. 
Where Night, down-stooping from her ebon throB* 
Views constellations brighter than her own. 
Tis innocent and harmless and refined. 
The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. 

C d 



50 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

Innocent ! Oh, if venerable Time 

Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime. 

Then, with his silver beard and magic wand 

Let Comus rise archbishop of the land ; 

Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe, 

Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. 

Of manners rough, and coarse athletic cast. 
The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. 
Rufiilus, exquisitely form'd by mle. 
Not of the moral but the dancing- school, 
Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone 
As ti-agical, as others at his o-wn. 
He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score, 
Then kill a constable, and drink five more ; 
But he can draw s pattern, make a tart 
And has the ladies' etiquette by heart. 
Go, fool ! and, ann in ai'm %vith Clodio, plead 
Your cause before a bar you little dread ; 
But know, the law, tliat bids the diamkard die. 
Is far too just to pass the trifler bj\ 
Both baby-featured, and of infant size, 
View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes. 
Folly and Innocence are so alike. 
The difference, thoug-h essential, fails to strike. 
Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare, 
A simpering countenance, and a trifling air ; 
But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect, 
Delights us, by engaging our respect. 
Man, Nature's guest, by invitation sv/eet, 
Receives from her both appetite and treat , 
But if he play the glutton and exceed. 
His benefactress blushes at the deed ; 
For Nature, nice, as liberal to dispense. 
Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. 
Daniel ate pulse by choice — example rare ! 
Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and fair. 
Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, 
Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan: 
He snuffs far off th' anticipated joy ; 
Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ ; 
Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat, 
Ob nauseous ! — an emetic for a whet 



PROGIiESS OF ERROR. 5) 

Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good? 
Temporafnie were no virtue if he could. 

That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call, 
Are huitful, is a truth coiifess'd by all ; 
And some, that seem to threaten virtue less, 
Still hurtful ill the abuae, or by th' excet-s. 
Is man then only for hid torment placed 
Tbe centre of delights he may not taste? 
Like fabled Tantalus, condemn'd to hear 
The precious stream still purling- in his ear, 
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet cursed 
With prohibition, and pei-petual thirst ? 
No, wrangler — destitute of shame and sense. 
The precept, that enjoins him abstinence, 
Forbids him none but the licentious joy, 
Whose fruit, thoujih fair, tempts only to de&troy. 
Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleaeure laid 
Ln every bosom where her nest is made, 
hatch'd by the beams of Truth, denies him rest, 
/Vnd provea a raging- scorp-Ion in his bieast. 
No pleasure ? Are domestic comforts dead ? 

Are all the nameless sweets of friendship Jled? 
Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame 

Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good 

All these belong to virtue, and all prove [fame t 

That vii-tue has a title to your love. 

Have you no touch of pity, that the poor 

Stand starved at your inhospitable door. 

Or if yourself too scantily supplied 

Need help, let honest industry provide. 

Earn, if you want : if yon abound, impart : 

These both are pleasures co tlie feeling- heart. 

No pleasure? Has some sickly eastern waste 

Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ? 

Can British Paradise no scenes afl'ord 

To please her sated and indilieietit lord! 

Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run 

Quite to the lees ? And has religion none? 

Brutes capable v/ould tell you 'tis a lie, 

i\jid judge you from the kennel and the sty. 

Delights like these, ye sensual and profano; 

Ye are bid, begg'd, besought to entertain; 



62 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn off 
Obscene to swill and wallow at a tiough? 
Envy the beast, then, on whom Heav'n beiitowa 
Your pleasures, with no curses in the close. 

Pleasure admitted in undue degree 
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. 
'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice 
Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their uae ; 
Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame, 
And woman, lovely woman, does the same. 
The heart, sun-ender'd to the ruling power 
Of some ungovern'd passion every hour. 
Finds by degrees the truths, that once bore sway. 
And all their deep impressions, wear av/ay ; 
So coin grows smooth, in ti-affic current pass'd. 
Till Cajsar's image is effaced at last. 

The breach, thoujih small at first, soon opening wide 
In nishes folly with a full-raoon tide. 
Then welcome eirors of whatever size, 
To justify it by a thousand lies. 
As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, 
And hides the ruin that it feeds upon ; 
So sophistry cleaves close to, and protects 
Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects : 
Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care. 
First wish to be imposed on, and then are : 
And, lest the fulsome artifice should fail, 
Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil. 
Not more industrious are the just and true. 
To give to Virtue what is Virtue's due— 
The praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth. 
And call her charms to public notice forth — 
Than Vice's mean and disingenuous race, 
To hide the shocking features of her face. 
Her form with dress and lotion they repair; 
Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. 

The sacred implement I now employ 
Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy ; 
A trifle, if it move but to amuse ; 
But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse. 
Worse than a poniard in the basest hand 
It itabs at once the morals of a land. 



PROGRESS OF ERROR. 53 

Ye writers of what none with safety reads. 
Footing- it in the dance that fancy leads : 
Ye novelists, who mar what ye woiild mend. 
Snivelling and drivelling- foliy without end; 
Whose correspoiidin<;- misses lill the ream 
With sentimental frippery and dream, 
Caught in a delicate soft silken net, 
By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet: 
Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence. 
Steal to the closet of young- Innocence, 
And teacn her, unexperienced yet and green, 
To scribble as you scribbled at hfteen ; 
Who, kindling- a combustion of desire, 
With some cold moral think to quench the fire ; 
Thoug-h all your engineering proves in vain. 
The diibbling stream ne'er puts it out again. 
O that a verse had power, and could command 
Far, far away, these flesh-flies of the land ; 
Who fasten without mercy on the fair. 
And suck, and leave a craving maggot there! 
Howe'er disg-uised the inflammatory tale, 
And cuver'd with a flne-spun specious veil; 
Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust 
And relish of their pleasure all to lust. 

But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view 
A quarry more important still than you; 
Down, down the wind she swims, and sails aw^ay, 
Now s<-oops upon it, and now grasps the prey. 

Petronius ! all the Muses weep for thee ; 
But every tear shall scald thy memory : 
The Graces too, while Virttie at their shrine 
Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine. 
Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, 
Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. 
Tliou polish'd and high-finish'd foe to truth, 
Graybeard corrupter of our listening youth. 
To purge and skim away the filth of vice. 
That so refined it might the more entice. 
Then pour it on the morals of thy son ; 
To taint his heart, was worthy of tki?ie orvn ! 
Now, while the poison all high life pervades, 
Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades; 



S4 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

One, and one only, charged with deep regret 
That thy worse part, thy principles, live yett 
One sad epistle thence may cure mankind 
Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 

'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, 
Our most important are our earliest years ; 
The mind, impressible and soft, with ease 
Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, 
And throug:h life's labyrinth holds fast the clew 
That education gives her, false or true. 
Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong; 
Man'.« coltish disposition asks the thong; 
And without discipline, the favourite child. 
Like a neglected forester, runs wild. 
But we, as if good qualities wonld grow 
Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow ; 
We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek ; 
Teach him to fence and figure twice a week ; 
And having done, we think, the best v/e can, 
Praise his proficiency, and dub him man. 

From school to Cam oi- Isis, and thence home; 
And thence with all convenient speed to Rome. 
With reverend tutor clad in habit lay. 
To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day ; 
With memorandum-book for every town, 
And every post, and where the chaise broke cio\vn, 
His stock a few French phrases got by heart 
With much to learn, but nothing to impart; 
The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 
Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands. 
Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair. 
With awkward gait, stretch 'd neck, and silly stare 
Discover huge cathedrals, built with stone. 
And steeples towering high, much like our own; 
But shew peculiar light, by many a grin 
At popish practices obsei-ved within. 

Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abb6 
Remarks two loiterers, that have lost their way; 
And being always primed with politrsse 
For men of their appearance and address, 
With much compassion undertakes the task, 
To tell them more than they have wit to ask; 



PROGRESS OF ERROR. 56 

Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they ti-ead. 
Such as, when legible, were never read ; 
But being- caxiker'd now, and half worn out. 
Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt ; 
Some headless hero, or some Caesar shews — 
Defective only in his Roman nose ; 
Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans. 
Models of Herculanean pots and pans; 
And sells them medals, which, if neither rare 
Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care. 

Strange the recital ! from whatever cause 
His great improvement and new light he draws, 
The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more, 
But teems with powere he never felt before ; 
Whether increased momentum, and the force. 
With which from clime to clime he sped his coui-ae 
(As axles sometimes kindle as they go). 
Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a g^low; 
Or whether clearer skies and softer air. 
That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, 
Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran, 
Unfolded genially and spread the man ; 
Returning-, he proclaims by many a grace. 
By shrugs and strange contortions of his lace. 
How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, 
Excels a dunce that has been kept at home. 

Accomplishments have taken virtue's place. 
And wisdom falls before exterior grace: 
We slight the precious kernel of the stone, 
And toil to polish its rough coat alone. 
A just deportment, manners graced with ease. 
Elegant phrase, and figure foi-m'd to please. 
Are qualities that seem to comprehend 
Whatever parents, g-uardians, schools intend : 
Hence an unfurnish'd and a listless mind. 
Though busy, trifling; empty, though refined; 
Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash 
With indolence and luxury, is tj'ash : 
While learning, once the man's exclusive pride. 
Seems verging fast towards the female side. 
Learning itself, received into a mind 
By nature weak, or viciously inclined,. 



66 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

Serves but to lead philosophers astray. 

Where children would with ease discern the way. 

And of all arts sagacious dupes invent, 

To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent. 

The worst is — Scripture warp'd from its intent. 

The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased 
If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greased ; 
But if the rogue have gone a cup too far. 
Left out his linchpin, or forgot his tar, 
It suffers interruption and delay. 
And meets with hindrance in the smoothest way. 
When some hypothesis, absurd and vain. 
Has fiU'd with all its fumes a critic's brain. 
The text, that sorts not with his darling whim, 
Though plain to others, is obscure to him. 
The will made subject to a lawless force. 
All is irregular and out of course ; 
And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose bis 

way. 
Winks bard, and talks of darkness at nocn-day. 

A critic on the sacred book should be 
Candid and leam'd, dispassionate and free : 
Free from the wayward bias bigots feel. 
From Fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal : 
But, above all (or let the v.Tetch refrain, 
Nor touch the page he Cannot but profane). 
Free from the domineering power of lust ; 
A lewd interpreter is never just. 

How shall I speak thee, or thy power address. 
Thou god of our idolatry, the Press ? 
By thee religion, liberty, and laws. 
Exert their influence, and advance their cause : 
By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befel. 
Diffused, make earth the vestibule of hell ; 
Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise ; 
Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies : 
Like Eden's dread probationary tree. 
Knowledge of good and evil is from thee. 

No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest, 
TiU half mankind were like himself possess'd. 
Philosophers, who darken and put out 
Eternal truth by everlasting doubt ; 



PROGRESS OF ERROR. ftj 

Church quacks, -with passions under no command. 
Who fill the world with doctrines conti-aband. 
Discoverers of they know not what, confined 
Within no bounds — the blind that lead the blind; 
To streams of popular opinion drawn, 
Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. 
The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around 
Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound, 
Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood, 
Minnows and gudgeons gorge th' unwholesome food 
The propagated myriads spread so fast, 
E en Leuwenhoeck himself would stand aghast, 
Employ 'd to calf-ulate the enonnous sum, 
And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. 
Is this h>-pcrbole ? The world well known, 
Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. 

Fresh confidence the speculatist takes 
From every haii--brain'd prosel \ te he makes ; 
And therefoie piints. Himself but half-deceived, 
Till others have the soothing tale believed. 
Hence comment after comment, spun as fine 
As bloated spiders draw the fiimsy lii.e : 
Hence the same word, that bids our lusts obey, 
Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. 
If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, 
Hebrew or Syrir.c shall be forced to bend: 
If languages and copies all cry, No — 
Somebody proved it centuries ago. 
Like trout pur.stj.ed, the critic in despair 
Darts to the mui, and finds his safety there. 
\\ omen, whom custom has forbid to lly 
Tlie scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why) 
With all the simple and unletter'd poor, 
Admire his leaning, and almost adore. 
Wlioever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong, 
With such fine words familiar to his tongue. 

Ye ladies! (for, indifferent in your cause, 
I should deserve! to forfeit all applause,) 
Whatever shocks or gives the least offence 
To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense 
(Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide). 
Nor has, nor can have. Scripture on its side* 
E 



58 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

None but an author k'^^ws an author's cares. 
Or Fancy's fondness for l e child she bears. 
Committed once into the piiblic arms. 
The baby seems to smile with added charms. 
Like something precious ventured far from shore 
Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. 
He views it with complacency supreme. 
Solicits kind attention to his dream ; 
And daily more enauioui-'d of the cheat, 
Kneels, and asks Heaven to bless the dear deceit. 
So one, whose story serves at least to shew 
Men loved their own productions long ago, 
VVoo'd an unfeeling statue for his v/ife. 
Nor rested till the gods had given it life. 
If some mere driveller suck the sugar'd fib, 
One that still needs his leading-stnng and bib. 
And praise his genius, he is soon repaid 
In praise applied to the same part — hLs head : 
For 'tis a rule, that holds for ever ti-ue, 
Grant me discernment, and I gi-ant it you. 

Patient of contradiction as a child. 
Affable, humble, diffident, and mild ; 
Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke : 
Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock. 
The creature is so sure to kick and bite, 
A muleteer's the man to set him right. 
First Appetite enlists him I'ruth's sworn foe, 
Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so. 
Tell him he wanders, that his enor leads 
To fatal ills ; that though the path he ti-eads 
Be flowei-y, and he see no cause of fear. 
Death and the pains of hell attend him there 
In vain ; the slave of arrogance and pride. 
He has no hearing on the prudent side. 
His still refuted quirks he still repeats ; 
New-raised objections with new quibbles meets; 
Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends. 
He dies disputing, and the contest ends — 
But not the mischiefs ; they, still left behind. 
Like thistle-seeds, are sown by every wind. 

Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill; 
the straight rule to their own crooked will ; 



PROGRliSS OF ERROR. A9 

And with a clear and shining- lamp supplied, 
First put it out, then take it for a guide. 
Halting on crutches of unequal size, 
One leg by truth supported, one by lies ; 
They sidle to the goal with awkward pace, 
Secure of nothing— but to lose the race. 

Faults in the life breed eiTors in the brain, 
And these reciprocally those again. 
The mind and conduct mutually imprint 
And stamp their image in each other's mint* 
Each, sire and dam, of an infernal race. 
Begetting and conceiving all that's base. 

None sends his ari'ov/ to the mark in vie-w 
Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue. 
For though, ere yet the shaft is on the wing, 
Or when it first forsakes the elastic string, 
It err but little from the intended line, 
It falls at last far wide of his design : 
So he, who seeks a mansion in the sky, 
Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye ; 
That prize belongs to none but the sincere ; 
The least obliquity is fatal here. 

With caution taste the sweet Circean cup : 
He that sips often, at last drinks it up. 
Habits are soon assumed; but when we strive 
To strip them ofF, 'tis being flay'd alive. 
Call'd to the temple of impure delight, 
He that abstains, and he alone, does right. 
If a wish wander that way, call it home ; 
He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. 
But, if you pass the threshold, you are caught ; 
Die then, if power Almighty save you not. 
There hardening by degrees till double steel'd. 
Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd ; 
Then laugh at all you trembled at before ; 
And joining the freethinker's brutal roar. 
Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense-- 
That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense ; 
If clemency, revolted by abuse. 
Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse. 

Some dream that they can silence when they will 
The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still : 



£0 TRUTH. 

But • Thuifar and no farther,' when address'd 

To the wild wave, or wilder hiiinan breast. 

Implies authority that never can. 

That never ought to be the lot of man. 

But muse forbear; long flights forbode a fall; 

Strike on the deep-toned chord the sura of all. 

Hear the just law — the judgment of the skies! 
He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies: 
And he that will be cheated to the last, 
Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast. 
But if the wand'rer his mistake discern, 
Judge his own ways, and sigh for a retiim, 
Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss 
For ever and for ever ? No — the cross ! 
There, and there only (though the Deist rave 
And Atheist, if earth bear so base a slave) ; 
There, and there only is the power to save. 
There no delusive hope invites despair ; 
No mockery meets you, no deceptioii there. 
The spells and charms, that blinded you before. 
All vanish there, and fascinate no more. 

I am no preacher, let this hint suffice — 
The cross once seen is death to every vice : 
Else he that hung there suffer'd all his pain, 
Bled, groan'd, and agonized, and died, in vain. 



TRUTH. 

Pensantur trutina.— /Tor. Lib. ii. Epist. 1. 
Man, on the dubious waves of error toss'd, 
His ship half founder'd, and his compass lost, 
Sees, far as human optics may command, 
A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land ; 
Spreads all his canvass, every sinew plies, 
Pants for 't, aims at it, enters it, and dies ! 
Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes. 
His well-built systems, philosophic dreams ; 
Deceitful views of future bliss farewell! — 
He reads his sentence at the flames of hell. 

Hard lot of man — to toil for the reward 
Of Tiitue, and yet lose it 1 Wherefore hard f 



TRUTH. 61 

He that would win the race must guide his horse 
Obedient to the customs of the course ; 
Else, though unequall'd to the goal he flies, 
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. 
Grace leads the right way : if you choose the wrong 
Take it and perish ; but restrain your tongue ; 
Charge not, with light sufficient, and left free, 
Your wilful suicide on God's decree. 

O how unlike the complex works of man. 
Heaven's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan ! 
No meretricious graces to beguile. 
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; 
From ostentation as from weakness free. 
It stands like the cerulean arch we see, 
Majestic in its own simplicity. 
Inscribed above the portal, from afar 
Conspicuous, as the brightness of a star. 
Legible only by the light they give. 
Stand the soul-quickening words — Believe and live 
Too many, shock'd at what should charm them 

most. 
Despise the plain direction, and are lost. 
Heaven on such terms ! (they cry with proud disdain,) 
Incredible, impossible, and vain !— 
Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey ; 
And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way. 
These are the sober, in whose cooler brains 
Some thought of immoitality remains ; 
The rest, too busy or too gay to wait 
On the sad theme, their everlasting state. 
Sport for a day, and perish in a night. 
The foam upon the waters not so light. 

Who judged the Pharisee ? What odious cause 
Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws? 
Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend. 
Or stabb'd a man to serve s(mie private end ? 
Was blasphemy his sin ? Or did he stray 
From the strict duties of tbe sacred day? 
Sit 'onsr and late at the carousing board? 
(Such were the sin?* with whi<-.h he charged his Lord.) 
No- the man's morals were exact; what then? 
Twas his Ambition to be seen of men ; 



62 TRUTH. 

His virtues were his pride ; and that ojie rice 
Made all his \irtues gewgaws of no price ; 
He wore them as fine trappings for a sliow, 
A praying, sjnagog-ue-frequenting beati. 

The self-applauding- bird, the peacock, see- 
Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he I 
Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfold 
His radiant glories, azure, green and gold : 
He treads as if, son^e solemn music near. 
His measured step were govem'd by his ear : 
And seems to say — Ye meaner fowl, give place, 
I am all splendour, dignity and grace ! 

Not so the pheasant on his chaj-ms prcsuine:^, 
Though he too has a glory in his plumes. 
He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mien 
To the close copse, or far-sequester'd green, 
And shines without desiring to be seen. 
The plea of works, as ariogant and vain, 
Heaven turns from with abhorevice and disdahi; 
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect, 
"Than by the mere dissembler's feign d respect. 
What is all righteousness that men devise J 
What — but a sordid bargain for the skies ? 
But Christ as soon would abdicate his own. 
As stoop from heaven to sell the proud a thi-one 

His dwelling a recess iii some rude rock, 
Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre 

stock ; 
In shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress'd, 
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has bless'd ; 
Adust with stripes told out for every criiu';. 
And sore tonnented long bclVire his time ; 
His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid ; 
His praise postponed, and never to be paid ; 
See the sage hermit, by mankind admired. 
With all tliat bigotry adopts inspised. 
Wearing out life in his religious whim. 
Till his religious whimsy wevirs out him. 
His works, his abstinence, his :. al allow'd, 
You think him humble— God accounts him proadj 
High in demand, though lowly in pretence 
Of all his condxict this the genuine sense — 



TRUTH. &'A 

My penitential stripes, my streaming blood. 
Have purchased heaven, and prove my title good. 

Tuni eastward now, and Fancy shall apply 
To your weak, sight her telescopic eye. 
The Bramin kindles on his own bare head 
The sacred fire, self-torturing his ti'ade ; 
His volimtary pains, severe and lorfg', 
Would give a barbarous air to British song ; 
No grand inquisitor could worse invent, 
Than he contiives to suffer, well content. 

Which is the saintlier worthy of the two ? 
Past all dispute, yon anchorite say you. 
Vour sentence and mine differ. What's a name? 
I say the Bramin has the fairer claim. 
If sufferings Scripture nowhere recommends, 
Devised by self to answer selfish ends, 
Give saiatship, then all Europe must a^'ee 
Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he. 

The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear 
And prijudice have left a passage clear), 
Pride has attain'd its most luxui'iant growth. 
And poison'd every virtue in them both. 
Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean; 
Humility may clothe an English dean ; 
That grace was Cowper's — his, confess'd by all — 
Though placed in golden Durham's second stall. 
Not all the plenty of a bishop's board 
His palace, and his lackeys, and ' My Lord,' 
More nourish pride, that coiidescending vice. 
Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice ; 
[t thrives in misery, and abundant gTows : 
In misery fools upon themselves impose. 

But why before us Protestants produce 
An Indian mystic, or a French recluse ? 
Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, 
Rtiform'd azid well instructed ? You shall hear. 

Yon ancient prude, v.4iose wither'd features shew 
She miicht be young so)ne forty years ago. 
Her elbows pininn'^d cbise upon her hips. 
Her head erect, her fan upon her lips. 
Her eye-brows arch'd, her eyes botli gone astray 
To watch yon amorous couple in their play, 



64 rRLTH. 

With tony and unkerchief d neck defies 
The rude incleraeiicy of wintry skie^ 
And sails with lappet-head, and mincing airs 
Duly at cUnk of bell to morning: prayers. 
To thrift and parsimoi;y much inclined, 
She yet allows herself that boy behind ; 
The shivering urchin, bending as he goes, 
V/ith slipshod heels and dewdrop at his nose ; 
His predecessor's coat advanced to wear. 
Which futTire pages yet are doom'd to share, 
Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, 
And hides his hands to keep his fingers wai'm. 

She, half an angel in her own account. 
Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount; 
Though not a grace appears on sti-ictest search, 
But that she fasts, and item, goes to church. 
Conscious of age, she recollects her youth, 
And tells, not always with an eye to truth, 
W.ho spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he came 
Scrawi d upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name ; 
Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay. 
And drank the little bumper every day. 
Of temper as envenom'd as an asp, 
Censorious, and her every word a wasp ; 
In faithful memory she records the crimes. 
Or real, or fictitious, of the times ; 
Laughs at the reputations she has torn. 
And holds them dangling at arm's length in sc^in. 

Such are the filiits of sanctimonious pride, 
Of malice fed while flesh is mortified : 
Take, madam, the reward of all your prayers 
Where hermits and where Bramins meet with tlieirs ; 
Your portion is with them. — Nay, never frown, 
But, if you please, some fathoms lower down. 

Artist attend — your brushes and your paint — 
Produce them — take a chair — now draw a saint. 
Oh, sorrowful and sad ! the streaming tears 
Channel her cheeks — a Niobe appears! 
Is this a saint 1 Throw tints and all away — 
Ti-ue piety is cheerful as the day — 
Will weep indeed, and heave a pitying groan 
For others' woes, but smiles upon her own. 



TRUTH. 0A 

What purpose has the King of saints in ?•<"* 
Why falls the Gospel like a g-racious dew 1 
To call up plenty fi-om the teeming er.rth, 
Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth 
Ts it that Adam's ofFspring- may be saved 
From servile fear or be the more enslaved ? 
To loose the links that gall'd mankind before. 
Or bind them faster on, and add still more 1 
The freeboru Christian has no chains to prove 
Or, if a chain, the golden one of love : 
No foar attends to quench his glowing: fires, 
\Vh:it fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 
Shall he, for such deliverance freely wrou-ht, 
Recompense ill '. He trembles at the thou^iht. 
His master's interest and his own combined 
Prompt every movement of his heart and mind ' 
Thought, word, and deed his liberty evince ; 
His freedom is the freedom of a prince. 

Man's obligations infinite, of course 
His life should prove that he perceives their forco 
His utmost he can render is but small — 
The principle and motive all in all. 
You have two servants — Tom, an arch, sly rogue, 
From top to toe the Geta now in vogue, 
Genteel in fig-ure, easy in address, 
Moves without noise, and swift as an express, 
Reports a message with a pleasing grace, 
Expert in all the duties of his place ; 
Say, on what hinge does his obedience move 1 
Has he a world of gratitude and love? 
No, not a spark— 'tis all mere sharper's play ; 
He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay; 
RedTice his wages, or get rid of her, 
Tom quits you, with — Your most obedient. Sir. 

The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand. 
Watches vour eye, anticipates command ; 
Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail ; 
And if he but suspects a fro\vn, turns pale ; 
Consults all dav your interest and your ease. 
Richly rewarded if he can but please ; 
And, proud to make his firm attachment known, 
To save your life would nobly risk his own. 



66 TRLIH. 

Now vvhich stands highcKSt in your seiious thought } 
Charles, without douht, say you — and so he ought ; 
One act that from a thankful heart proceeds, 
Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds. 

Thus heaven approves as honest and sincere, 
The work of generous love and filial fear 
But with averted eyes the omniscient Judge 
Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. 

Where dwell these matchless saints? — old Curio 
E'en at your side, sir, and before your eyes, [I'i-ies. 
The favom''d few — th' enthusiasts you despise. 
And pleased at heart, because on holy ground 
Sometimes a canting h^'pocrite is found, 
Reproach a people with his single fall, 
And cast his filthy garment at them all. 
Attend ! — an apt similitude shall shew 
Whence springs the conduct that oiFends you so. 

See where it smokes along the sounding plain, 
Blovim all aslant, a driving, dashing rain. 
Peal upon peal redoubling all around, 
Shakes it again and faster to the groun 
Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play. 
Swift beyond thought tlie lightnings dart away. 
Ere yet it came the traveller urged his steed. 
And hun-ied, but with unsuccessful speed ; 
Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case. 
He drops the rein, and leaA es him to his pace. 
Suppose, unlook'd-for in a scene so laide, 
Long hid by interposing hill or wood, 
Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd. 
By some kind hospitable heart possess'd, 
OfFer him warmth, security, and rest; 
Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease 
He hears the tempest howling in the trees • 
What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ, 
While danger past is tum'd to present joy ! 
So fares it with the sinner when he feels 
A grovTing dread of vengeance at his heels ; 
His conscience like a glassy lake before, 
Lash'd info foaming waves, begins to roar ; 
The law grown clamorous, though silent long, 
Arraigns him — charges him with every wrong — 



TUliTlL 6 

Asserts the rights of his o/Fendcd Lord, 

And death or restitution is the word : 

The last impossible, he fears the first, 

And, having- well desei-ved, expects the worst. 

Then welcome refuge and a peaceful home ; 

Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come ! 

Crush me, ye rocks! ye falling mountains hide, 

Or bury me in ocean's angTy tide. — 

The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes 

I dare not — And you need not, God replies; 

The remedy you want I freely give ; 

The Book shall teach you — read, believe, and live^ 

"Tis done — the raging storm is heard no more, 

Mercy receives him on her peaceful shoi-e : 

And justice, g-uardian of the dread command, 

Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. 

A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise ; 

Hence the complexion of his future days, 

Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd. 

And the world's hatred, as its sure effect. 

- Some lead a life unblamable and just. 

Their own dear virtue their unshaken trxist; 

They never sin — or if (as all offend) 

Some trivial slips their daily walks attend. 

The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, 

A slight gratuity atones for all. 

For though the pope has lost his interest here. 

And pardons are not sold as once they were, 

No papist more desirous to compound. 

Than some grave sinners upon English ground. 

That plea refuted, other quirks they seek — 

Mercy is infinite, and man is weak; 

The future shall obliterate the past. 

And heaven no doubt shall he their home at last. 
Come then — a still small whisper in > oxir ear — 

He has no hope who never had a fear ; 

And he that never doubted of his state. 

He may perhaps- -perhaps he may — too late. 
The path to bliss abounds with many a snare ; 

Learning is one, and wit, however rare. 

The Fren'.hman, first in literary fame 

(Mention him if you please. Voltaire ? — The 8ame)t 



68 TRUJU. 

With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied, 
Lived long, \vrote much, litugh'd heartily, and died 
The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew 
Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew ; 
An infidel in health, but what when sick ? 
Oh — then a text would touch him at the quick: 
View him at Paris in his last career. 
Surrounding throngs the demigod revere; 
Exalted on his pedestal of pride. 
And fumed with frankincense on every side, 
He begs their ilattery with his latest breath, 
And smother'd in't at last, is praised to death. 
Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door. 
Pillow and bobbins all her little store ; 
Content though mean, and cheerfid if not gay. 
Shuffling her threads about tlie livelong day. 
Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night 
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light; 
She, for her humble sphere by nature fit. 
Has little understanding, and no wit. 
Receives no praise ; but, though her lot be such 
(Toilsome and indigent), she renders much ; 
Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true — 
A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew; 
And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes 
Her title to a treasure in the skies. 

O happy peasant! O unhappy bard! 
His the mere tinsel, her's the rich reward ; 
He praised perhaps for ages yet to come. 
She never heard of half a mile from home : 
He lost in errors his vain heart prefers. 
She safe in the simplicity of her's. 

Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound 
In science, win one inch of heavenly gTOund. 
And is it not a mortifying thought 
The poor should gain it, and the rich should not? 
No — the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget 
One pleasure lost, lose heav en without regret ; 
Regret woiild rouse them, and give birth to prayer; 
Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them 
Not that the Former of us all in this, [thera 

Or aug^ht he does, is govern 'd by caprice 



TRUTH. ( 

The supposition is replete with sin, 
And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in. 
Not so — the silver trumpet's heavenly call 
Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all , 
Kings are invited, and, would kings obey. 
No slaves on earth more welcome were than thiv 
But royalty, nobility, and state. 
Are such a dead preponderating weight, 
That endless bliss (how strange soe'er it seem) 
In countei-poise, flies up and kicks the beam. 
Tis open, and ye cannot enter— Why ? 
Because ye will not, Conyers would reply- 
And he says much that many may dispute, 
And cavil at with ease, but none refute. 
O bless'd effect of penury and want. 
The seed sown there, how vigorous is the plant 
No soil like poverty for growth divine. 
As leanest land supplies the richest wine. 
Earth gives too little, giving only bread. 
To nourish pride, or tura the weakest head : 
To them the sounding jargon of the schools 
Seems what it is— a cap and bell for fools : 
The light they walk by, kindled from above. 
Shews them the shortest way to life and love : 
They, strangers to the controversial field, 
Where deists, always foil'd, yet scorn to yield, 
And never check'd by what impedes the ^vise, 
Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. 
Envy, ye great, the duU unletter'd small : 
Ye have much cause for envy— but not all. 
We boast some rich ones whom the Gospel sway 
And one who wears a coronet and prays ; 
Like gleanings of an olive-tree they shew. 
Here and there one upon the topmost bough. 

How readily upon the Gospel plan, 
That question has its answer— What is man 1 
Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretcli ; 
An instrument, whose chords upon the stretch. 
And strain'd to the last screw that he can bear, 
Yield only discord in his Maker's ear: 
Once the bless'd residence of truth divine. 
Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine, 



10 TRLirH. 

Where, in his own oracular abode. 

Dwelt visibly the light-creating God ; 

But made long since, like Babylon of old, 

A den of mischiefs never to be told : 

And she, once mistress of the realms around. 

Now scatter'd wide, and no where to be found. 

As soon shall rise and re-ascend the throne. 

By native power and energy her own. 

As Nature, at her own peculiar cost. 

Restore to man the glories he has lost. 

Go — ^bid the winter cease to chill the year. 

Replace the wandering comet in his sphere, 

Then boast (but wait for that mihoped-for hour; 

The self-restoring arm of human power. 

But what is man in his o\vn proud esteem 1 

Hear him — ^himself the poet and the theme : 

A monarch cloth'd with majesty and awe. 

His mind his kingdom, and his will his law ; 

Grace in his mien, and glory in his eyes. 

Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies, 

Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod. 

And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a god! 

So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and fon)t 

The song magnificent — the theme a worm ! 

Himself so much the source of his delight. 

His Maker has no beauty in his sight. 

See where he sits, contemplative and fix'd. 

Pleasure and wonder in his features mix'd. 

His passions tamed, and all at his control. 

How perfect the composure of his soul I 

Complacency has breath'd a gentle gale 

O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail: 

His books well trimm'd, and in the gayest style, 

Like regimental coxcombs, rank and file. 

Adorn his intellects as well as shelves. 

And teach him notions splendid as themselves: 

The Bible only stands neglected there. 

Though that of all most worthy of his care ; 

And like an infant troublesome awake. 

Is left to sleep for peace and quiet sake. 

What shall the man deserve of human kind, 
Whose happy skill and industry combined 



TRUTH. 71 

Shall prove (what argument could never yet) 

The Bible an impostuie and a cheat! 

The praises of the libertine profess'd. 

The worst of men, and curses of the best. 

Where should the living-, weeping o'er his woes 

The dying, trembling at the awful close ; 

Where the beti-ay'd, forsaken, and oppress'd, 

The thousands whom the world forbids to rest ; 

Where should they find (those comforts at an end 

The Scripture yields), or hope to find, a friend 1 

Sorrow might muse herself to madness. then, 

And, seeking exile from the sight of men, 

Bury herseJf in solitude profound. 

Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground. 

Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life, 

Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife. 

The jury meet, the coroner is short. 

And lunacy the verdict of the court. 

Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known. 

Such lunacy is ignorance alone ; 

TJiey knew not, what some bishops may not know 

That Scripture is the only cure of woe ; 

That field of promise, how it flings abroad 

Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road 1 

The soul, reposing on assured relief, 

Feels herself happy amidst all her giief. 

Forgets her labom- as she toils along, 

Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. 

But the same word, that, like the polish'd share 
Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care, 
Kills too the flowery weeds, where'er they grow. 
That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. 
Oh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, 
Sad messenger of mercy from above ! 
How does it grate upon his thankless ear. 
Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear I 
His will andjudg-ment at continual strife, 
That civil war imbitters all his life ; 
In rain he points his powers against the skiaiS.< 
In vain he closes or averts his eyes. 
Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware ; 
Aiid ehakea thfe sceptic in the sconier's chair. 



72 TRUTH. 

Though various foes against the Ti-ixth combine^ 
Pride above all opposes her design ; 
Pride, of a growth superioi* to the rest. 
The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest, 
Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage, 
Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the staye. 

And is the soul indeed so lost — she cries. 
Fallen from her glory, and too weak to rise? 
Toi-pid and dull beneath a frozen zone. 
Has she no spark that may be deem'd her o^Tn ? 
Grant her indebted to what zealots call 
Grace undesei-ved, yet surely not for all — 
>)Ome beams of rectitude she yet displays, 
i\ome love of virtue, and some power to praise ; 
Can lift herself above coi-poreal things, 
And soaring on her own unborrow'd wings. 
Possess herself of all that's good or true, 
Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. 
Past indiscretion is a venial crime. 
And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time. 
Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rudp, 
Fruits of a blighted size, austere and ciiide, 
Maturer years shall happier stores produce, 
And meliorate the well-concocted juice. 
Then conscious of her meritorious zeal. 
To Justice she may make her bold appeal. 
And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind. 
The worthless and unfiiiitful of mankind. 
Hear then how Mercy, slightec and defied. 
Retorts the affront against the crown of Pride 

Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd, 
And the fool with it who insults his Lord. 
Th' atonement, a Redeemer's love has wrought. 
Is not for you — the righteous need it not. 
Seest thou yon harlot, wooing all she meets. 
The worn-out nuisance of the public streets 
Herself from mom to night, from night to nioni 
Her own abhorrence and as much your scorn ? 
The gracious shower, unlimited and free. 
Shall fall on her, when heaven denies it thes 
Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift, 
That man is dead in sin, and life a gift. 



TRUTH. 7J{ 

Is virtue, then, unless or Chi-istian growth. 
Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both i 
Ten thousand sag:es lost in endless woe. 
For ignorance of what they could not know 1 
That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue. 
Charge not a God with such outrageous wrong. 
Truly not I — the partial light men have. 
My creed persuades me, well employ'd, may save ; 
While he that scorns the noon-day beam, perverse. 
Shall tind the blessing unimproved a curse. 
Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind 
Left sensuality and dross behind. 
Possess for me their undisputed lot, 
And take unenvied the reward they sought; 
But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea. 
Not blind by choice, but destined not to see. 
Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame 
Celestial, though they knew not whence it came. 
Derived from the same source of light and jirace. 
That guides the Christian in his swifter race ; 
Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law; 
That rule, pursued with reverence, and with awe. 
Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow. 
From what they knew, to what they wish d to know 
But let not him, that shares a brighter day, 
Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray. 
Prefer the twilight of a darker time. 
And deem his base stupidity no crime : 
The wretch who slights the bounty of the skies. 
And sinks while favour'd with the means to rise. 
Shall find them rated at their full amount ; 
The good he scorn'd all carried to account. 

Marshalling all his terrors as he came, 
Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame. 
From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law. 
Life for obedience, death for every daw. 
When the great Sovereign would bis will expresa, 
He gives a perfect rule; v;hat can he less? 
And guards it with a sanction as sevei-e 
As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear: 
Else his own glorious rights he would disclaim. 
And man might safely trifle with his name. 
D 



74 EXFOSTU/.ATIOJN. 

He bids him glow with unremitting love 

To all on earth, and to himself above ; 

Condemns the injurious deed, the slanderous tcn^o. 

The thought that meditates a brother's wrong-: 

Brings not alone the more conspicuous pait, 

His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. 

Hark.! universal nature shook and groan 'd, 
'Twas the last trumpet — see the Judge enthroned : 
Rouse all your courage at your utmost need, 
Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. 
What ! silent ? Is your boasting heard no more ? 
That self-renomicing wisdom, learn'd before, 
Had shed immortal glories on your brow, 
That all your virtues cannot purchase now. 

All joy to the believer ! He can speak — 
Trembling yet happy, confident yet meek. 

Since the dear hour, that brought me to thy foot. 
And cut up all my follies by the root, 
I never trusted in an arm but thine, 
Nor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine : 
My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, 
Were but the feeble efforts of a child ; 
Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest pai-t 
That they proceeded from a grateful heart ; 
Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood, 
Foi'give their evil, and accept their good; 
I cast them at thy feet— my only plea 
la what it was, dependence upon thee ; 
While struggling in the vale of tears below, 
That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now. 
Angelic gratulations rend the skies. 
Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise. 
Humility is crown'd, and Faith receives the prize. 



EXPOSTULATION. 

'Taritane, tain patiens, nullo certamine tolll 

Dona sines!' — l^irg. 
Why weeps the muse for England? What appearu 
In England's case, to move the muse to tears 1 
From side to side of her delightful isle 
la fibe not cloth'd with a perpetual smile ? 



EXPOSTULATION. 75 

Can Nature add a charm, or Art confer 
A new-found liixiuiy not seen in her? 
Where under heaven is pleasure more pursued, 
Or where does cold reflection less intinide * 
Her fields a rich expanse of wavy coi'n, 
Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn : 
Ambrosial gardens, in which Art supplies 
The fervour and the force of Indian skies ; 
Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce wsitsi 
To pour his golden tide through all her gates ; 
Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice 
Of eastern groves, and oceans lloor'd with ice. 
Forbid in vain to push his daring way 
To darker climes, or climes of brighter day ; 
Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roR, 
From the world's girdle to the fro/.en pole ; 
The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets. 
Her vaults below, where every vintage meets ; 
Her theatres, her revels, and her sports ; 
The scenes to which not youth alone resorts. 
But age, in spite of weakness and of pain. 
Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again ; 
Ail speak her happy : let the muse look round 
From east to west, no sorrow can be found : 
Or only what, in cottages confined. 
Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. 
Then wherefore weep for England 1 What appears 
In England's case, to move the muse to tears? 
The prophet wept for Israel ; wish'd ]\is eyes 
Were fountains fed with infinite supplies : 
For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong ; 
There were the scomer's and the slanderer's tongue s 
Oaths, used as playthings or convenient tools. 
As interest biass'd knaves, or fashion fools ; 
Adultery, neighing at his neighbours door; 
Oppression, labouring hard to grind t)ie po<;r ; 
The partial balance, and deceitful weight ; 
The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate ; 
Hypocrisy, formality in prayer. 
And the dull service of the lip were there. 
Her women, insolent, and self-caress'd. 
By vanity's unweaned finger dress'd. 



76 EXPOSTULATION. 

Forgot the blush, that virgin fears impart 

To modest cheeks, and horrow'd one from art ; 

Were just such trifles, without worth or use, 

As silly pride and idleness produce ; 

Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounced aromid, 

With feet too delicate to touch the gTomid, 

They stretch'd the neck, and roll'd the wanton eye. 

And sigh'd for every fool that flutter d by. 

He saw his people slaves to every lust, 

Lewd, avaricious, aiTogant, unjust; 

He heard the wheels of an avenging God 

Groan heavily along the distant road ; 

Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass 

To let the military deluge pass ; 

Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd. 

Her princes captive, and her treasures spoil'd ; 

Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, 

Stanip'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh : 

But wept, and stamp'd, and smote his thigh in vain 

Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain, 

And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit 

Ears long accustom'd to the pleasing lute ; 

They scorn'd his inspiration and his theme, 

Pronounced him frantic, and his fears a dream : 

With self-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours, 

Till the foe found them, and down fell their towers. 

Long time Assyria bound them in her chain, 
Till penitence had purged the public stain. 
And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved, 
Retum'd them happy to the land they loved ; 
There, proof against prosperity, awhile 
They stood the test of her insnaring smile, 
And had the grace in scenes of peace to shew 
The virtue they had leam'd in scenes of woe. 
But man is frail, and can but ill sustain 
A long- immunity from grief and pain ; 
And after all the joys that Plenty leads, 
With tiptoe step Vice silently succeeds. 

When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod. 
In form a man, in dignity a god, 
Came, not expected in that humble guise. 
To sift and search them with unerring eyes. 



F.XrOSTl l-\T10N 77 

He found, couceaVd beneath a fair outside. 
The filth of rottenness, and worm of pride ; 
I'heir piety a system of deceit, 
Scripture employ'd to sanctify the cheat ; 
The Pharisee the dupe of his own art, 
Self-idolized, and yet a knave at heart. 

When nations are to perish in their sins, 
'lis in the church the leprosy begins ; 
The priest, whose office is with zeal sincerfl 
To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear, 
('arelcssly nods and sleeps upon the brink, 
Wiiile others poison what the flock must drink i 
Or, waking- at the call of lust alone, 
Infuses lies and errors of his owii ; 
His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure; 
And, tainted by the very means of cure, 
Catch from each other a contagious spot. 
The foul fore-runner of a general rot. 
Then Truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach; 
And all is trash, that Reason cannot reach : 
Then Gods own image on the soid impress'd 
i>ecomes a mockery, and a standing jest ; 
And faitli, the root whence only can arise 
The graces of a life that wins the skies. 
Loses at once all value and esteem, 
Pronounced by graybeards a pernicious dream 
Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, 
Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth , 
While truths, on which eternal things depend. 
Find not, or hardly find, a single friend : 
As soldiers watch the signal of command, 
They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; 
Happy to fill religion's vacant place, 
With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. 

Such, when the teacher of his church was there 
People and priest, the sons of Israel were ; 
Stiii" in the letter, lax in the design 
And import, of their oracles divine ; 
Their learning legendary, false, absurd 
And yet exalted above God's own word ; 
They drew a curse from an intended good, 
PuflTd up with giits they never understood- 



78 EXPOSTULATION. 

He judged them with as terrible a frown. 

As if not love, but wrath, had brought him down . 

Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs, 

Had grace for others' sins, but none for theirs ; 

Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran — 

Rhetoric is artifice, the work of man ; 

And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise, 

Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies. 

Tlie astonish'd vulgar trembled when he tore 

The mask from faces never seen before ; 

He stripp'd the impostors in the noon-day sun, 

Shew'd that they follov^'d all they seem'd to shua; 

Their prayers made public, tlieir excesses kept 

As private as the chambers where they slept; 

The temple and its holy rites profaned 

By mummeries, he that dwelt in it disdain'd , 

Uplifted hands, that at convenient times 

Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, 

Wash'd with a neatness scrupiilously nice. 

And free from every taint but that of vice. 

Judgement, however tardy, mends her pace 

When Obstinacy once has conquer 'd Grace. 

They saw distemper heal'd, and life restored, 

In answer to the fiat of his word ; 

Confess'd the wonder, and with daring tongue 

Blasphemed the authority from which it sprung. 

They knew by sure pi-ognostics seen on high, 

The future tone and temper of the sky ; 

But, grave dissemblers ! could not understand 

That Sin let loose speaks Punishment at hand. 

Ask now of history's authentic page. 
And call up evidence from every age ; 
Display with busy and laborious hand 
The blessings of the most indebted land •, 
What nation will you find, whose annals prove 
So rich an interest in Almighty love ? 
Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day 
A people planted, water'd, bless'd as they 1 
Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim 
The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name ; 
Their freedom purchased for them at the cost 
Of all their hard oppressors raked mott; 



EXPOSTULATION 79 

Their title to a cotmtry not their own 
Made sure by prodigies till tlien unknown ; 
For them the states they left made waste and void ; 
For them the states to which they went destroy'd ; 
A cloud to measure out their march by day. 
By night a iire to cheer the gloomy way ; 
That moving signal summoning, when best. 
Their host to move, and when it stay'd to rest. 
For them the rocks dissolved into a flood ; 
The dews condensed into angelic food, 
Their very garments sacred, old yet new, 
And Time forbid to touch them as he flew ; 
Streams, swell'd above the bank, enioin'd to stand, 
While they pass'd through to their appointed land 
Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love, 
And graced with clear credentials from above ; 
Tliemselves secured beneath the Almighty wing , 
Their God, their captain,* lawgiver, and king ; 
Cro^^^l'd with a thousand victories, and at last 
Lords of the conquer'd soil — there rooted fast ; 
In peace possessing what they won by war. 
Their name far publish'd, and revered as far ; 
Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd 
With all that man e'er wish'd, or Heaven bestow'd 1 

They, and they only, amongst all mankind. 
Received the transcript of the Eternal Mind ; 
Were ti-usted with his own engraven laws, 
And constituted guardians of his cause ; 
Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call. 
And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all. 
In vain the nations, that had seen them rise 
With fierce and envious, yet admiring, eyes, 
Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were 
By power divine, and skill that could not eiT. 
Had they maintain'd allegiance finn and sure, 
And kept the faith immaculate and pure, 
Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome 
Had foand one city not to be o'ercome ; 
And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd 
Had bid defiance to the waning world. 

• Vide Joshua, V. 14, 



so EXPOSTULATION. 

But grace abused briiiirs forth the foulest deeds 
As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds, 
Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin, 
They set up self, that idol god within ; 
View'd a Deliv'rer with disdain and hate, 
Who left them still a tributary state ; 
Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free 
From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree ; 
There was the consummation and the crown. 
The flower of Israel's infamy full blown ; 
Thence date their sad declension and their fall, 
Their woes not yet repeal'd, thence date them ali. 

Thus fell the best instructed in her day. 
And the most favour'd land, look where we may 
Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes 
Had pour'd the day, and cLar'd the Roman skies , 
In other climes perhaps creative Art, 
With power surpassing theirs, perfonn'J her part, 
Might give more life to marble, or might till 
The glowing tablets with a juster skill. 
Might shine in fable, and grace idle thomc-i 
With all th' embroidery of poetic dreams ; 
Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan 
That Truth and Mercy had reveal'd to man ; 
And while the world beside, that plan unknown, 
Deified useless wood, or senseless stone 
They breath'd in faith their well-directed prayers. 
And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs. 

Their glory faded, and their race dispersed, 
The last of nations now, though once the first ; 
Tbey warn and teach the proudest, would they leani 
Keep wisdom or meet vengeance in your turn : 
If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, 
Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus : 
If Vice received her retribution due, 
When we were visited, what hope for you 1 
When God arises, with an awful frown. 
To punish lust, or pluck presumption down ; 
When gifts perverted, or not duly prized. 
Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace despised. 
Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand, 
To pour down Avrath upon a thankless land ; 



EXPOSTULATION. 81 

He will be found impartially severe. 
Too just to wink, or speak, the guilty clear. 

Oh, Israel, of all nations most undone I 
Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; 
Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and razed. 
And thou a worshipper e'en where thou may'st ; 
Thy services, once holy, without spot, 
Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; 
Thy Levites, once a consecrated host. 
No longer Levites, and their lineage lost. 
And thou thyself, o'er every country sown. 
With none on earth that thou canst call thine 

own ; 
Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust. 
Cry to the proud, the cmel, and unjust ; 
Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears ; 
Say wi-ath is coming, and the storm appears ; 
But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. 

What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar. 
And fling their foam against thy chalky shore ? 
Mistress, at least while Providence shall please. 
And trident-bearing queen of the wide seas — ■ 
Why, having kept good faith, and often shewn 
Friendship and ti-uth to othei's, find'st thou none f 
Thou that hast set the persecuted free. 
None intei'poses now to succour thee. 
Countries indebted to thy power, that shine 
With light derived from thee, would smother thine: 
Thy very children watch for thy disgrace- — 
A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. 
Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year. 
With sums Peruvian mines could never clear 
As if, like arches built with skilful hand. 
The more 'twere press'd the firmer it would stand. 

The cry in all thy ships is still the same 
Speed us away to battle and to fame. 
Thy mariners explore the wide expanse. 
Impatient to desci-y the flags of France ; 
But, though they fight as thine have ever fought. 
Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought. 
Tliy senate is a scene of civil jar, 
t^Leofi of contrarieties at war ; 
D 1 



82 EXPOSTULATION. 

Where shai-p aud solid, phleg-matic and light. 

Discordant atoms meet, fennent, and fight ; 

Where Obstinacy takes his stnrdy stand, 

To disconcert what Policy has planh'd ; 

Where Policy is busied all night long 

In setting right what Faction has set wrong ; 

Where flails of oratory thrash the floor. 

That yields them chaif and dust, and nothing more 

Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, 

Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in -vain * 

War lays a burden on the reeling state, 

And peace does nothing to relieve the weight : 

Successive loads succeeding broils impose. 

And sighing millions prophesy the close. 

Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well, 
So dimly writ, or difficult to spell. 
Thou canst not read with readiness and ease 
Providence adverse in events like these ? 
Know then that heavenly wisdom on this ball 
Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all ; 
That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man 
Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan, 
He first conceives, then perfects his design. 
As a mere instrument in hands divine : 
Blind to the working of that secret power, 
That balances the wings of every hour, 
Tlie busy trifler dreams himself alone, 
Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. 
States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane. 
E'en as his v/ill and his decrees ordain ; 
While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway. 
They flourish ; and, as these decline, decay : 
In just resentment of his injured laws. 
He pours contempt on them and on their causo ; 
Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart 
The web of evei-y scheme they have at heart ; 
Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust 
Tlie pillars of support, in which they trust. 
And do his errand of disgrace and shame 
On the chief sti-ength and gloi*y of the frame. 
None ever yet impeded what he wrought, 
None bars him out from his most secret thought { 



EXPOSTULATION. 8? 

Darkjiess itself before his eye is light. 
And hell's olose mischief naked in his sight. 

Stand now and judge thyself— Hast thou incurr'd 
His ang-er, who can waste thee with a word, 
Who poises and pi-oportious sea and land, 
Weighing them in the hollow of his hand, 
And in whose awful sight all nations seem 
As gTasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream ? 
Hast thou (a sacrileg-e his soul abhors) 
Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars ! 
Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem 
Of his just praise, to lavish it on them ? 
Hast thou not leam'd, what thou art often told, 
A truth still sacred, and believed of old, 
That no success attends on spears and swords 
Unbless'd, and that the battle is the Lord's ? 
That courage is his creatui'e ; and dismay 
The post, that at his bidding speeds away, 
Ghastly in feature, and his stammering tongue 
With doleful rumour and sad presage hung, 
To quell the valour of the stoutest heart. 
And teach the combatant a woman's part ? 
That he bids thousands fly when none pursue, 
Saves as he will by many or by few, 
And claims for ever, as his royal right, 
The event and sure decision of the fight ? 

Hast thou, though suckled at fair Freedom's breast. 
Exported slavery to the conquer'd east ? 
Pull'd down the tyrants India served with area 1, 
And raised thyself a greater, in their stead ? 
Gone thither ai-m'd and hungry, return'd full ; 
Fed from the richest veins of the Mojul, 
A despot big with power obtain'd by wealth. 
And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth T 
With Asiatic vices stored thy mind. 
But left their virtues and thine own behind ? 
And, having truck'd thy soul, brought home the fee, 
To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ? 

Hast thou by statute shoved from its design 
The Saviour's feast, his own bless'd bread and wine- 
And made the symbols of atoning grace 
An office-key, a picklock to a place. 



94 EXPOSTUIATION. 

That infidels may prove their title good 

By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood ? 

A blot that will be still a blot, in spite 

Of all that grave apologists may write ; 

Ajid though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain. 

He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. 

AjQd hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, 

Till perjuries are common as bad pence. 

While thousands, careless of the damning sin, 

Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within ? 

Hast thou, when Heaven has cloth'd thee with dis- 
And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face [grace 
(For thou hast kno^vn eclipses, and endured 
Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured. 
When sin has shed dishonour on thy brow ; 
And never of a sabler hue than now). 
Hast thou, with heart perverse and conscience sear'd 
Despising all rebuke, still persevered. 
And having chosen evil, scom'd the voice 
That cried, Repent !— and gloried in thy choice 1 
Thy fastings, when calamity at last 
Suggest the expedient of a yearly fast. 
What meap they 1 Canst thou dream there is a powei 
In lighter diet at a later hour. 
To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies. 
And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes ? 
The fast, that wins deliverance, and suspends 
The stroke, that a vindictive God intends, 
Is to renounce hypocrisy ; to draw 
Thy life upon the pattern of the law ; 
To war with pleasure, idolized before , 
To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. 
All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence. 
Is wooing mercy by renew'd offence. 

Hast thou within the sin, that in old time 
Brought fire from heaven, the sex-abusing crime. 
Whose horrid perpetration stamps dis^irace. 
Baboons are free from, upon human race ? 
Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot. 
That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot, 
Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsafed on earth, 
Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth. 



EXPOSTULATION. gj 

Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire, 

Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire : 

Then Nature injured, scandalized, defiled, 

Unveil'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smiled; 

Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced, 

And praised the wrath that laid her beauties waste. 

Far be the thought from any verse of mine, 
And farther still the form'd and fix'd desigii. 
To thi-ust the charge of deeds that I detest. 
Against an innocent, unconscious breast : 
The man that dares traduce, because he can 
With safetj' to himself, is not a man ; 
An individual is a sacred mark. 
Not to be pierced in play, or in the dark ; 
But public censure speaks a public foe. 
Unless a zeal for vii-tue guide the blow. 

The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, 
From mean self int'rest and ambition clear. 
Their hope in Heaven, ser\ility their scorn. 
Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn. 
Their wisdom pure, and given them from above. 
Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love, 
As meek as the man Moses, and '\vithal 
As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul, 
Should fly the world's contaminating touch, 
Holy and unpolluted : — are thine such ? 
Except a few, with Eli's spiiit bless'd, 
Hophni and Phinehas may describe the rest. 

Where shall a teacher look, in days like these. 
For ears and hearts, that he can hope to please ? 
Look to the poor — the simple and the plain 
Will hear pei-haps thy salutary strain: 
Humility is gentle, apt to learn, 
Speak but the word, will listen and return. 
Alas ! not so : the poorest of the flock 
Are proud, and set their fa<.es as a rock; 
Denied that earthly opulence they choose, 
God's better gift they scofl at and refuse. 
The rich, the produce of a nobler stem. 
Are more intelligent at least — try them. 
Oh vain inquirj' ! they v/ithout remorse 
Are altogether gone a devious course , 



86 EXPOSTULATION. 

Where beckoning- Pleasure leads them, wildly stra-y 5 
Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. 

Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, 
Review thy dim orignial and prime. 
This i.sland, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth, 
The cradle that received thee at thy birth, 
Was rock'd by many a rough Norwejiian blast. 
And Danisli bowlings scared thee as they pa^s'd; 
For thou wast born amid the din of arms, 
And suck'd a breast that panted w^th alarms. 
While yet thou wast a grovelling- paling chit. 
Thy bones not fashion 'd, and thy joints not knit. 
The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow. 
Though twice a Caesar could not bend thee now : 
His victory was that of orient light. 
When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. 
Thy language at this distant moment shevi^s 
How much the country to the conqueror owes; 
Expressive, energetic, and reiined, 
It sparkles with the gems he left behiria : 
He brought thy land a blessing when he caxne ; 
He fovind thee savage and he left thee tame ; 
Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide 
And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride ; 
He sow"d the seeds of order where he went, 
Improved thee far beyond his own intent ; 
And while he ruled thee by the sword alone, 
Made thee at last a warrior like his own. 
Religion, if in heavenly truths attired. 
Needs only to be seen to be admired ; 
But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, 
Wa!) form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight ; 
Thy Druids struck the well-strung harps they bore 
With fingers deeply dyed in human gore ; 
And while the victim slowly bled to death. 
Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. 

Who brought the lamp, that with awaking beams 
Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, 
Tradition, now decrepit and worn out. 
Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : 
But still light reach'd thee ; and those gods of thine, 
Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine. 



EXPOSTULATION. 87 

Pell broken and defaced at bis own door. 
As Dagon in Philistia long- before. 
But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand; 
Soon raised a cloud that darken'd every land j 
And thine was smother'd in the stench and fog 
Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. 
Then priests, with bulls, and briefs, and shaven crowiis. 
And griping lists, and unrelenting frowns. 
Legates and delegates, with powers from hell, 
Though heavenly in pretension, fleeced thee well ; 
And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind, 
Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.* 
Thy soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack. 
Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smack ; 
And when he laid them on the scent of blood, 
Would hunt a Saracen through fire and Hood. 
Lavish of life, to win an empty tomb, 
That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome, 
They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies, 
His worthless absolution all the prize. 
Thou wast the veriest slave in days of yore. 
That ever dragg'd a chain, or tugg'd an oar; 
Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust. 
Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, 
Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress 
Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press. 
Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee. 
Provoked and harass'd, in return plagued thee ; 
CaU'd thee away from peaceable employ, 
Domestic happiness and rural joy, 
To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down 
In causeless feuds and bickerings of their o-wn 
Thy parliaments adored on bended knees 
The sov'reignty they were convened to please 
Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist. 
Complied with, and were graciously dismiss'd f 
And if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd, 
And, blushing at the tameness of the rest. 
Dared to suppose the subject had a choice. 
He was a traitor by the general voice. 

* Which may be found at Docton' CoirnDons. 



eS EXPOSTULATION. 

Oh slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert. 

Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert ; 

It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain, 

Thou self-entitled i-uler of the main, 

To ti-ace thee to the date when yon fair sea. 

That clips thy shores, had no such charms for the*. 

When other nations flew from coast to coast, 

And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag' to boast. 

Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust ; 

Blush, if thou canst ; not petrified, thou must : 

Act but an honest and a faithful part ; 

Compare what then thou wast with what thou art ; 

And God's disposing' providence confess'd. 

Obduracy itself must jield the rest — 

Then thou art bound to serve him, and to prove. 

Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. 

Has he not hid thee, and thy favour'd land. 
For ages safe beneatli his sheltering hand. 
Given thee his blessing on the clearest proof. 
Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof. 
And charged Hostility and Hate to roar 
Where else they would, but not upon thy shore T 
His power secured thee, when presumptuous Spain 
Baptized her fleet invincible in vain. 
Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resi-gn'd 
To every pang that racks an anxious mind, 
Ask'd of the waves, that broke upon his coast, 
What tidings 1 and the surge replied — All lost I 
And when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot, 
Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot. 
Pierced to the very centre of the realm, 
And hoped to seize his abdicated helm, 
'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frown 
He that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee down. 
Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd, 
Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest ; 
Thy thunders travel over earth and seas. 
And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 
'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm. 
Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm, 
While his own heaven surveys the troubled scene, 
And feels no change, unshaken and serene. 



EXPOSTUT.ATION. m 

Freedom in other lands scarce known to shine, 
Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine ; 
Thou hast as bright an interest in her rays 
As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. 
True freedom is where no restraint is known, 
That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown, 
Where only vice and injury are tied. 
And all from shore to shore is free beside. 
Such freedom is — and Windsor's hoary towers 
Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers, 
That won a nymph on that immortal plain 
Like her the fabled Phoebujs woo'd in vain : 
He found the lamel only — happier you 
The unfading laurel, and the virgin too!* 

Now think, if Pleasuie have a thought to spare 
If God himself be not beneath her care ; 
If Business, constant as the wheels of time. 
Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme ; 
If the new mail thy merchants now receive, 
Or expectation of the next, give leave ; 
Oh think I if chargeable with deep arrears 
For such indulgence gilding all thy years. 
How much, though long neglected, shining yet. 
The beams of heav'nly truth have swell'd the d eb' 
When persecuting zeal made royal sport 
With tortured innocence in Mary's court. 
And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, 
Enjoy'd the show and danced about the stake ; 
The sacred Book, its value understood, 
Received the seal of niartyi'dom in blood. 
Those holy men, so full of truth and grace. 
Seem to reflection of a diiierent race ; 
Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere. 
In such a cause they could not dare to fear ; 
Thsy could not purchase earth with such a prize 
Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. 
From them to thee convey'd along the tide. 
Their streaming hearts pour'd freely when they died: 
Those ti-uths, vi>hich neither use nor years impair. 
Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. 

• Alluding to the ^rant of Magna Charta, which was extorted 
from King John by tiit barons at Runnymede near WiiidbOr, 



-_.J| 



90 EXPOSTULATION. 

What dotage will not vanity maintain? 

What web too weak to catch a modern brain V 

The moles and bats in full assembly find, 

On special search, the keen-eyed eajrle blind. 

And did they dream, and art thou wiser now ? 

Prove it — if better, I submit, and bow. 

Wisdom and goodness are twin-bom, one heart 

Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. 

So then — as darkness overspread the deep, 

Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep, 

And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, 

Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High ; 

By such a change thy darkness is made light, 

Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might; 

And He, whose power mere nullity obeys, 

Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise 

To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil. 

Doing and sufi'ering his unquestion'd will ; 

'Tis to believe what men inspired of old. 

Faithful, and faithfully inform'd unfold; 

Candid and just, with no false aim in view, 

To take for truth what cannot but be time ; 

To leam in God's own school the Christian part, 

And bind the task aasign'd thee to thine heart : 

Happy the man there seeking and there fovuid 

ilappy the nation where such men abound. 

How shall a verse impress thee ? by what name 
Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame ? 
13 y theirs, whose bright example unimpeach'd 
Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd, 
Meroes and worthies of days past, thy sii-es? 
)r his, who touch'd their hearts with hallow'd fires f 
"heir names, alas! in vain reproach an age. 
Whom all the vanities they scorn'd engage! 
And His, that seraphs tremble at, is hung 
Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue, 
• Or serves the champion in forensic war 
To flourish and parade with at the bar. 
Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea. 
If interest niove thee, to persuade e'en thee ; 
By every charm that smiles upon her face. 
By joya possesa'd and joya ctill held in cha^e, 



EXPOSTULATION. 9| 

If dear society be worth a thought, 
And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, 
Reflect that these, and all that seems thine own, 
Held by the tenure of his will alone, 
Like angels in the service of their Lora, 
Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word; 
That gratitude and temperance in our use 
Of what he g-ives, unsparing- and profuse, 
Secure the favour and enhance the joy ; 
That thankless v.'aste and wild abuse destroy. 
But above all, reflect, how cheap soe'er 
Those rights, that millions envy thee, appear. 
And, though resolved to risk them, and swim down 
The tide of pleasure, heedless of His frown. 
That blessings tnily sacred, and when given, 
Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heaven, 
The word of prophecy, those ti-aths divine. 
Which make that heaven, if thou desire it, thine 
(Awful alternative! believed, beloved, — 
Thy g-lory and thy shame if unimproved), 
Ai-e never long- vouchsafed, if pusli'd aside 
With cold disgust or philosophic pride ! 
And that judicial^ withdrav/n, disgrace. 
Error, and darkness, occupy tlieir place. 

A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot 
Not quickly found, if negligently sought. 
Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, 
Endur'st the brunt, and dar'st defy them all : 
A.nd wilt thou join to this bold entei-prise 
A bolder still, a contest with the skies ? 
Remember, if He g-uai"d thee, and secure. 
Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure; 
But if He leave thee, though the skill and powei 
Of nations swoi'n to spoil thee and devour. 
Were all collected in thy single arm, 
Anc" thou could'st laugh away the fear of harm. 
That strength would fail, opposed against the push 
And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. 

Say not (and if the thought of such defence 
Should spring wi«hiu thy bosom, drive it thence) 
What uatiim amongst all my foes is free 
From Climes as base as any charged on me t 



92 HOPE. 



ii 



Their measure fiU'd, they ti>o shall pay the debt, 'i 

Which God, though long forborno, will not forget. j! 

But know that wrath divine, wlien most severe, jl 

Makes justice still the g-uide of his career, \\ 

And will not punish, in one mingled crowd, j 

Them without lig-ht, and thee without a cloud. I 

Muse, hang- this harp upon yon aged beech, i| 

Still murmuring- with the solemn truths I teach ; 
And while at intervals a cold blast sings 
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the string-s ; 
My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament ,! 

A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent. jj 

I know the warning song is sung in vain ; 
That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain ; 
But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd 
A blessing to my country and mankind, 
Reclaim the wanderijxor thousands, and bring home 
A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam. 

Then place it once again between my knees ; ij 

The sound of truth will then be sure to please : |l 

And ti-utb alone, where'er my life be cast J 

In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste, 
Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. 



HOPE. 

doceas iter, et sacra ostia pandas.— Firg-. IF.a. 6% 

Ask what is human life — the sage replies, 
With disappointment lowering in his eyes, 
A painful passage o'er a restless flood, 
A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 
A scene of fancied bliss and heartfelt care. 
Closing at last in darkness and despair. 
The poor, inured to dinidgery and distress. 
Act without aim, think little, and feel less. 
And nowhere, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes, 
Paste happiness, or know what pleasure means. 
Riches are pass'd away from hand A hand, 
As fortune, rice, or folly may command ; 



HOPE. 93 

As in a dance the pair that take the lead 

Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, 

So shifting and so various is the plan, 

By which Heaven rules the mix'd affairs of man ; 

Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, 

The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud ; 

Business is labour, and man's weakness such, 

Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much. 

The very sense of it foregoes its use. 

By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. 

Youth lost in dissipation we deplore, 

Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore j 

Our years, a fruitless race without a prize, 

Too many, yet too few tp make us wise. 

Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, 
Lothario cries, What philosophic stuff— 
O quei-ulous and weak ! — whose useless brain 
Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain ; 
Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, 
Whose prospect shews thee a disheartening waste ; 
Would age in thee resign his wintry reig-n. 
And youth invigorate that frame again, 
Renew'd desire would grace with other speech 
Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. 

For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom 
That overhangs the borders of thy tomb. 
See Nature gay, as when she first began 
With smiles alluring her admirer man ; 
She spreads the momkig over eastern hills, 
Earth glitters with the drops the night distils ; 
The sun obedient at her call appears. 
To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears : sounds. 
Banks cloth'd with flowers, groves fifll'd with sprightly 
The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds 
Streams edged with osiers, fatteniug every field. 
Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceal'd ; 
From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, 
Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, 
Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise. 
Or Pride can look at with indifferent eyes. 
All speak one language, all with one sweet voice 
Gry to her universal realm, Rejoice I 



»4 HOPE. 

Man feels the spur of passions and desires. 
And she gives largely more than he requires ; 
Not that his hours devoted all to Care, 
Hollow-eyed Abstinence, and lean Despair, 
The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, sight 
She holds a paradise of rich delight ; 
But gently to rebuke his awkward fear, 
To prove that what she gives she gives sincere ; 
To banish hesitation, and proclaim 
His happiness, her dear, her only aim. 
'Tis grave Philosophy's absurdest dream. 
That Heaven's intentions are not what they seem, 
That only shadows are dispensed below. 
And earth has no reality but woe. 
Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue. 
As YoTith or Age persuades ; and neither true. 
So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen 
The rose or lily appears blue or green. 
But still the imputed tints are those alone 
The medium represents, and not their own. 
To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd. 
To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best. 
Till half the world comes rattling at his door, 
To fill the dull vacuity till four ; 
And, just when evening turns the blue vault gray. 
To spend two hours in dressing for the day; 
To make the sun a bauble without use. 
Save for the fruits his heavenly beams produce ; 
Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought, 
Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not ; 
Through mere necessity to close his eyes 
Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise ; 
Is such a life, so tediously the same. 
So void of all utility or aim, 
That poor Jonquil, with almost everj- breath. 
Sighs for his exit, ^oilgarly call'd death; 
For he, with all his follies, has a mind 
Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind. 
But now and then perhaps a feeble ray 
Of distant wisdom shoots across his way, 
By which he reads, that life without a plan. 
As useless as the moment it began, 



KOPK, m 

Serves merely as a soil foi- discontent 
To thrive in ; an encumbrance ere half spent. 
Oh weariness beyond what asses feel, 
That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel ; 
A dull rotation, never at a stay. 
Yesterday's face twin-image of to-day ; 
While conversation, an exhausted stock. 
Grows drowsy as the clicking of a clock. 
No need, he cries, of gravity stuff'd out 
With academic dignity derotit. 
To read wise lectures, vanity the text : 
Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next ; 
For truth self-evident, with pomp impress'd. 
Is vanity surpassing all the rest. 

That remedy, not hid in deeps profound. 
Yet seldom sought where only to be found. 
While passion turns aside from its due scope 
The inquirer's aim, that remedy is hope. 
Life is His gift, from whom whate'er life needfl, 
With every good and perfect gift, proceeds ; 
Bestow'd on man, like all that we partake. 
Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake ; 
Transient, indeed, as is the fleeting hour, 
And yet the seed of an immortal flower; 
Design 'd in honour of his endless love, 
To fill with fragi-ance his abode above ; 
No trifle, howsoever short it seem, 
And, howsoever shadowy, no dream ; 
Its value, what no thought can ascertain 
Nor all an angel's eloquence explain ; 
Men deal with life as children with their play. 
Who first misuse, then cast their toys away ; 
Live to no sober purpose, and contend 
That their Creator had no serious end. 
When God and man stand ojiposite in view, 
Man's disappointment must of course ensue 
The just Creator condescends to write. 
In beams of inextinguishable light. 
His names of wisdom, goodness, power, and love, 
On all that blooms below or shines above ; 
To catch the wandering notice of mankind. 
And leach the world, if not perversely blind 



06 HOPE. 

His gracious attributes, and prove the share 
His oiFspring hold iu his paternal care. 
If, led from earthly things to things divine. 
His creature thwart not his august design, 
Tlien praise is heard instead of reasoning pride 
And captious cavil and complaint subside. 
Mature, employ'd in her allotted place. 
Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace ; 
By good vouchsafed makes known superior good; 
And bliss not seen by blessings understood : 
That bliss reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow 
Bright as the covenant-ensuring bow, 
Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn 
Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is bom. 
Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all 
That men have deem'd substantial since the fall. 
Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe 
From emptiness itself a real use : 
And while she takes, as at her father's hand 
What health and sober appetite demand. 
From fading good derives, with chemic art. 
That lasting happiness, a thankful lieart. 
Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth. 
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, 
On steady wings sails through th' immense abysu 
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss. 
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, 
With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. 
Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast 
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. 
Hope! nothing else can nourish and secure 
His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure- 
Hope I let the wretch, once conscious of the joy. 
Whom now despairing anionics destroy, 
Speak, for he can, and none so well as he. 
What treasures centre, what delights in thee. 
Had he the gems, the spices, and the land 
That boasts the treasure, all at his command — 
The fragrant grove, th' inestimable mine. 
Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thine 

Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arm0> 
He shines with all a cherub's artless charms, 



HOi'E. I 

ilaii°)s tiie g-enume offspring' of revolt, 

Stiib!;orii and sturdy, as a wild ass' colt; 

His passions, like the watery stores that sleep 

Beneath the smiling surtace of the deep. 

Wait but the latches of a winti-y storm, 

To frown and roar and shake his feeble form. 

From infancy through childhood's giddy maze, 

Fi"0ward at school and fretful in his plays. 

The puny tyrant burns to subj ugate 

The free republic of the wip-gig- state. 

If one, his equal in atliletic frame, 

Or, more provoking still, of nobler name. 

Dare step across his arbiti'ary views. 

An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues : 

The little Greeks look trembling at the scales. 

Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand, prevails. 

Now see him launch'd into the world at largSf 
ff priest, supinely droning o'er his charge. 
Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl. 
Though short, too long, the price he pays for all. 
If laAv-yer, loud whatever cause he plead, 
But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. 
Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees, 
Punctually paid for lengthening out disease; 
No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays, 
That make superior skill his second praise. 
If arms engage him, he devotes to sport 
His date of life so likely to be short; 
A soldier may be any thing, if brave, 
So may a tradesman if not quite a knave. 
Such stuff the world is made of; and mankind 
To passion, interest, pleasure, whim resign'd, 
Insist on, as if each were liis own pope, 
Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope. 
Bat Conscience, in sorme awful, silent hour, 
When captivating lusts have lost their power. 
Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dreanOf 
Reminds him of religion, hated theme ! 
Stai-ts from the down on which she lately slepte 
And tells of laws despised, at least not kept : 
Shews with a pointing linger, but no noise, 
A pale procession of past sinful joys ; 
E 



{Kt HOPE. 

All witnesses of blessings foully souru'd, 

And life abused, and not to be suborn "A. 

Mark these, she says ; these suminon'd from afar, 

Be^n their march to meet thee at the bar 

There find a Judge inexorably just. 

And perish there as all presumption must. 

Peace be to those (such peace as earth can givej 
Who live in pleasure, dead e'en while th-y live; 
Bom capable indeed of heavenly trutli ; 
But down to latest age, from earliest youtli, 
Their mind a wilderness through want of care. 
The plough of wisdom never entering there. 
Peace (if insensibility may claim 
A right to the meek honours of her name) 
To men of pedigree, their noble race, 
Emulous always of the nearest place 
To any throne, except the throne of Grace. 
Let cottagers and unenlighten'd swai7i8 
Revere the laws tb levra that Heaven ordains; 
Resort on Sunda lo the house of prayer, 
And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there. 
Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat 
T' enjoy cool nature in a country seat, 
T' exchange the centre of a thousand trades. 
For clumps and lawns, and temples and cascades, 
May now and then their velvet cushions take. 
And seem to pray for good example's sake ; 
Judging, in charity, no doubt, the town 
Pious enough, and having need of none. 
Kind souls ! to teach their tenantry to pi-ize 
■WTiat they themselves, without remorse, despise : 
Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come. 
As well for them had prophecy been dumb; 
They could have held the conduct they pursue. 
Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a J«-w, 
And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they, 
Is a pearl cast — completely cast away. 

They die — Death lends them, pleased, and as it 
sport, 
All the grim honours of his ghastly court. 
Par other paintings grace the chamber now. 
Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow • 



HOPE. 9B 

The bus^ heralds hang the sable scene 

With mournful 'scutcheons, and dim lamps between; 

Proclaim their titles to the crowd around, 

But th-ey that wore them move not at the sound ; 

The coronet, placed idly at their head, 

A.dds nothing now to the degraded dead ; 

And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier, 

Can only say — Nobility lies here. 

Peace to all such — 'twere pity to offend, 

By useless censure whom we cannot mend ; 

Life without hope can close but in despair, 

'Twas there we found them, and must leave them 

As when two pilgrims in a forest stray, [there 
Both may be lost, yet each in his own way ; 
So fares it with the multitudes beguiled 
In vain Opinion's waste and dangerous wild ; 
Ten thousEind rove the brakes and thorns among, 
Some eastward, and son^^e ,|,'^.>vward, and all wrony. 
But here, alas I the fatal ditte. -^ce lies. 
Each man's belief is right in his own eyes ; 
And he that blames what they have blindly chose 
Incurs resentment for the love he shews. 

Say, botanist, within Vv'hose province fall 
The cedar and the hjssop on the wall. 
Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bowers. 
What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and flowei'S? 
Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both combined, 
Distin;ruish every cultivated kind: 
The want of both denotes a meaner breed. 
And Chloe from her garland picks the weed. 
Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect 
Esteem them, sow them, rear them and protect. 
If wild in nature, and not duly found, 
Gethsemane ! in thy dear hallow'd gi-ound, 
That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light, 
Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight. 
Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds, 
(Oh, cast them from thee !) are weeds, arrant weed* 

Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways. 
Diverging each from each, like equal rays, 
Himself as bountiful as April rains. 
Lord paramount of the surrounding plains. 



100 HOPE 

Would give relief of bed and board to none 

But guests that sought it in the appointed One 

And they might enter at his open door. 

E'en till his spacious hall would hold no more. 

He sent a servant forth by every road, 

To sound his horn, and publish it abroad. 

That all might mark — knight, menial, high, anc 

low. 
An ordinance it concem'd them much to know. 
If, after all, some headstrong hai'dy lout 
Would disobey, though sure to be shut out. 
Could he with reason murmm- at his case, 
Himself sole author of his own disgrace I 
No! the decree was just and without flaw ; 
And he, that made, had right to make the law ; 
His sovereign power and pleasure unresti-aiii'd. 
The wrong was his who wrongfully complain "d 
Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife 
With Him, the Donor of eternal life. 
Because the deed by which his love confirms 
Tlie largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. 
Compliance with his will your lot ensures, 
Accept it only, and the boon is yours. 
And sure it is as kind to smile and give. 
As with a fro^vn to say, Do this, and live. 
Love is not pedlar's trumpery bought and sold : 
He will give freely, or he tvill withhold ; 
His soul abhors a mercenary thought. 
And him as deeply who abhors it not ; 
He stipulates, indeed, but merely this. 
That man will freely take an unbought bliss, 
Will trust him for a faithful generous part. 
Nor set a price upon a willing heart. 
Of all the ways that seem to promise fair, 
To place you where his saints his presence 

share. 
This only can ; for this plain cause, express'd 
In terms as plain. Himself has shut the rest. 
But oh the strife, the bickeiing, and debate. 
The tidings of unpurchased Heaven create I 
The flirted fan, the bridle and the toss. 
All speakers, yet all language at a loss. 



HOPE. 16] 

Prom stucoed walls smart arguments rebound; 

And beaus, adept in every thing' profound, 

Die of disdain, or whistle o/i" the sound. 

Sucli is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, 

The explosion of the levell'd tube excites. 

Where mouldering- abbey-walls o'eihang the (^l^-Ai 

And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade ; 

The screaming nations, hovering in mid air. 

Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there, 

And seem to warn him never to repeat 

His bold intrusion on their dark retreat 

Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sips 
The purple bumper, trembling at his lips, 
Adieu to all morality ! if gTace 
Make works a vain ingredient in the case. 
The Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork — 
If I mistake not — Blockhead! with a fork! 
Without good works, whatever some may boast, 
Mere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast. 
My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes. 
That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and his 

crimes 
With nice attention, in a righteous scale. 
And save or damn as these or those prevail. 
I plant my foot upon this ground of trast, 
And silence every fear with — God is just. 
But if perchance on some dull drizzling day 
A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say. 
If thus the important cause is to be tiied, 
Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side ; 
I soon recover from these needless frights. 
And God is merciful — sets all to rights. 
Thus between justice, as my prime suppoi-t. 
And mercy, fled to as the last resort, 
I glide and steal along with heaven in view. 
And, — pardon me, the bottle stands with you. 

I never will believe, the Colonel cries, 
I'he sanguinary schemes that some devise. 
Who make the good Creator on their plan 
A being of less equity than man. 
If appetite, or what divines call lust, 
Wliich men comply with, e'en because they must 



102 HOPE. 

Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure 1 
Then theirs, no doubt, as well as Jiiine is sum. 
If sentence of eternal pain belong 
Yo every sudden slip and transient wrong. 
Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail 
A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail. 
My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean 
By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene) — 
My creed is, he is safe that does his best, 
And death's a doom sufficient for the rest. 

Right, sa^'S an Ensign; and, for aught I see. 
Your faith and mine substantially agree ; 
The best of every man's performance here 
Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. 
A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair, 
Honesty shines with great advantage there. 
Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, 
A decent caution and resem'e at least. 
A soldier's best is courage in the field. 
With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd. 
Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay! 
A hand as liberal as the light of day. 
The soldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks. 
Nor closets up his thoughts, whate'er he thinks. 
Who scorns to do an injury by stealth. 
Must go to heaven— and I must drink his health. 
Sir Smug, he cries (for lowest at the board. 
Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord. 
His shoulders witnessing, by many a shrug. 
How much his feelings sufler'd, sat Sir Smug), 
Your office is to winnow false froui true ; 
Come, prophet, drink, and tell us what think youl 

Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, 
WTiioh they that woo preferment rarely pass 
Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies. 
Is still found fallible, however wise 
And differing judg-ments ser\'e but to declare 
That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but wbci-e. 
Of all it ever was my lot to read. 
Of critics now alive, oi- long since dead, 
The book of all the -world that charm'd me most 
Was,~well-a-day, the title-page was lost; 



HOPE. ItJi 

The writer well remarks, a heart that knows 
To take with gratitude what Heaven bestow- 
With prudence always ready at our call. 
To guide our use of it, is all in all. 
Doubtless it is. — To which, of my own stoJ« 
I superadd a few essentials more ; 
But these, excuse the liberty I take, 
I wave just now, for conversation's sake. — 
Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim, 
And add Right Reverend to Smug's honour'd 
name. 

And yet our lot is given us in a land, 
Where busy arts are never at a stand ; 
Where Science points her telescopic eye. 
Familiar with the wonders of the sky ; 
Where bold Inquiry diving- out of sight, 
Brings manj- a precious pearl of truth to light , 
Where nought eludes the persevering quest 
That fashion, taste, or luxury suggest. 

But, above all, in her o\vn light aiTayd, 
See Mercy's grand Apocalypse display'd ! 
The sacred book no longer suffers wrong, 
Bound in the fetters of an unknown tong-ue ; 
But speaks with plainness, art could never mend. 
What sirajjlest minds can soonest comprehend. 
God gives the word, the preachers throng around, 
Live from his lips, and spread the glorioiis somxd : 
That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way. 
The trumpet of a life-restoring day ; 
'Tis heard v/here England's Eastern glory shines- 
And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines. 
And still it spreads. See Germany send forth 
Her sons * to pour it on the farthest north : 
Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy 
The rage and rigour of a polar sky. 
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose 
On icy planes and in eternal snows. 

O bless'd within the enclosure of your rocks, 
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocka ; 
No fertilizing streams your fields divide, 
That shew reversed the villas on their side ; 

• The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland. Sec Kranbt. 



104 HOPE. 

No groves have ye ; no cheerfiil sound of bird, 

Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard ; 

Nor grateful eglantine re^'ales the smell 

Of those, that walk, at evening- where ye dwell 

But Winter, a7'ni'd with terrors here unknowOi 

Sits absolute on his unshaken throne ; 

Piles up his stores amidst the freshen waste, 

And bids the mountains he has built stand fast ; 

Beckons the legions of his storms away 

From happier scenes, to make your land a prey 

Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, 

And scorns to share it with the distant sun. 

Yet Truth is yours, remote, imenvied isle ! 

And Peace, the genuine offspring: of her smile ; 

The pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds 

Id chains of eiTor our accomplish 'd mi)ids. 

That decks, with all the splendour of the true, 

A false religion, is lui known to you. 

Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight 

The sweet vicissitudes of day and night ; 

Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer 

Field, fruit, and flower, and every creatuie here , 

But brighter beams than his who fires the skies. 

Have risen at length on yoiir admiring- eyes, 

That shoot into your darkest caves the day, 

From which our nicer optics turn away. 

Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice, 
The dire effect of Mercy without pnce I 
What were they ? what some fools are made by art 
They were by nature. Atheists, h ad and heart. 
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach 
Wi's too refined for them, beyond their reach. 
Not e'en the glorioiis sun, though men revere 
The monarch most, that seldom will appear. 
And though his beams, that quicken where they shiiie, 
May claim some right to be esteem'd divine. 
Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare, 
Could bend one knee, engage one votarj' thei-e ; 
They were, what base Credulity believes 
True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves. 
The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast, 
Spent half the darkness and snored out the rest, 



HOPE. lit 

Was one, whom Justice on an equal plan, 
Denouncing' death upon the sins of man, 
Might almost have indulged \vith an escape, 
Chargeable only with a human shape. 

What are they now ? Morality mav spars 
Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there : 
The wretch, who once sang wildly, dau-ced, and 

laugh'd. 
And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught, 
Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways. 
Is sober, ineek, benevolent, and prays, 
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store. 
Abhors the craft he boasted of before, 
And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. 
Well spake the prophet, Let the desffl-t sing, 
Where spj-ang the thorn the spiry fir shall spring. 
And where unsightly and rank thistles grew, 
Shall grow the m>Ttle and luxiuiant yew. 

Go now, and with important tone demand 
On what foundation virtue is to stand, 
If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift, 
Aiid grace be grace indeed, and life a gift ; 
The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes 
Glistening at once with pity and surprise. 
Amazed that shadows should obscure tlie slight 
Of one, whose birth was in a land of light, 
Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free. 
And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. 

These amidst scenes as waste as if denied 
The common care that waits on all beside, 
Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, 
Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood 
(Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd 
A pla>-thing world, unworthy of his hand). 
Can see his love, though secret evil lurks 
In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works ; 
Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes, 
Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows. 
Hard task, indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam ! 
Is hope exotic ? Grows it not at home ? 
Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn, 
May press the eye too closely to be borne j 
E2 



106 HOPE. 

A distant virtue we can ill confess, 

It hurts our pride, and moves our envy, less^ 

Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding- Greek 
I slur a name a poet must not speak) 
Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage. 
And bore the pelting scorn of half an age ; 
The vei-y butt of Slander, and the blot 
For every dart that Mitlice ever shot. 
The man that mention'd fihn at once dismiss'd 
All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd ; 
Kis crimes were such as Sodom never knew. 
And perjury stood up to swear all true ; 
His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence. 
His speech rebellion against common sense ; 
A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule ; 
And when by that of reason, a mere fool ; 
The world's best comfort was, his doom was pasa'd 
Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last. 

Now, Truth perfoi-m thine office ; waft aside 
The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride, 
Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes 
This more than monster, in his proper g-uise. 
He loved the world that hated him : the tear 
That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere : 
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife, 
His only answer was a blameless life ; 
And he that forged, and he that threw the dart, 
Had each a brother's interest in his heart. 
Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, 
Were copied close in him, and well transcribed. 
He follow'd Paul ; his zeal a kindred flame. 
His apostolic charity the same. 
Like him, cross'd cheerfidly tempestuous seas, 
Forsaking coxmtry, kindred, friends, and ease , 
Like him he labour'd, and like him content 
To bear it, sutfer'd shame, where'er he went. 
Blush, Calumny ! and write upon his tomb. 
If honest Eulogy can spare thee room, 
I'hy deep repentance of thy thoiisand lies, 
Which, aim'd at him, have pierced the offended ski«8-> 
And say. Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored, 
Against thine image, in thy saint, Lord 



HOPE. 10» 

No blinder bigot, 1 maiutain it still. 
Than he who must have pleasure, conie what willt 
He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw. 
And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. 
Scripture indeed is plain ; but God and he 
On Scripture g-round are sure to disagree ; 
Some wiser rule must teach him how to live. 
Than this his Maker has seen fit to give ; 
Supple and flexible as Indian cane, 
To take the bend his appetites ordain ; 
Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case, 
And reconcile his lusts with saving gi-ace. 
By this, with nice precision of design, 
He draws upon life's map a zig-zag line. 
That shews how far 'tis safe to follow sin, 
And where his danger and God's wrath bejiin. 
By this he forms, as pleased he sports along, 
His well-poised estimate of right and wrong ; 
And finds the modish manners of the day. 
Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. 
Build by Avhatever plan Caprice decrees, 
With what materials, on what ground you please , 
Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired, 
If not that hope the Scripture has required. 
The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild 

dreams. 
With which hypocrisy for ever teems 
(Though other follies strike the public eye, 
And raise a laugh), pass unmolested by ; 
But if, unblamable in word and thought, 
A man arise, a man whom God has taught, 
With all Elijah's dignity of tone. 
And all the love of the beloved John, 
To storm the citadels they build in air, 
And smite the untemper'd wall ; 'tis death to spare 
To sweep away all refuges of lies, 
And place, instead of quirks themselves devise. 
Lama Sabacthani befojje their eyes ; 
To prove that without Christ all gain is loss. 
All hope despair, that stands not on his cross ; 
Except the few his God may have impress'd, 
A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. 



108 HOPE. 

Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least. 
There d-vvells a consciousness in every breast, 
That folly ends where genuine hope begins, 
And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins. 
Nature opposes with her utmost force 
This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce; 
And, while religion seems to be her view. 
Hates with a deep sincerity the true : 
For this, of all that ever influenced man, 
Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began, 
This only spares no lust, admits no plea. 
But makes him, if at all, completely free ; 
Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car. 
Of an eternal, universal war ; 
Rejects all treaty, penetrates all Aviles, 
Scorns with the same indifference frowns and smiles 
Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reel;, 
And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels ! 
Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art. 
Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart, 
Insensible of Truth's almighty charms, 
Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arnys ! 
While Bigotry, with Avell-dissembled fears. 
His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears. 
Mighty to pari-y and push by God's word, 
With senseless noise, his argument the sword, 
Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace, 
And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. 

Parent of Hope, immortal Truth ! make known 
Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine ows 
The silent progress of thy power is such, 
Thy means so feeble, and despised so much, 
That few believe the wonders thou hast wroughi. 
And none can teach them, but whom thou hast 

taught. 
O see me sworn to serve thee, and command 
A painter's skill into a poet's hand. 
That, while I trembling trace a work divine. 
Fancy may stand aloof From the design. 
And light, and shade, and every stroke be thine 

If ever thou hast felt another's pain , 
If ever -when he sigh'd hast sigh'd again. 



HOPE. 109 

If ever on thy eyelid stood ihe tear, 
That pity hath engender'd, drop one here. 
This man was happy — had the world's good word. 
And with it every joy it can afford ; 
Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, 
Which most should sweeten his untroubled life ; 
Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race, 
Good breeding- and good sense gave all a grace, 
And whether at the toilette of the fair. 
He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there, 
Or if in masculine debate he shared. 
Ensured him mure attention and regard. 
Alas, how c'nangedl Expressive of his mind. 
His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined ; 
Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin. 
Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within ; 
That Conscience there performs her proper part, 
And wi-ites a doomsday sentence on his heart; 
Forsaking and forsaken of all friends. 
He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends ; 
Hard task! for one who lately knew no care. 
And harder still as leanit beneath despair; 
His hours no longer pass unraark'd away, 
A dark importance saddens ever>' day; 
He hears the notice of the clock pei-plex'd. 
And cries. Perhaps eternity strikes next ; 
Sweet roiisic is no longer music here. 
And laughter sounds like madness in his ear : 
His grief the world of all her power disarms. 
Wine has no taste and beauty has no charms : 
God's holy word, once trivial in his view. 
Now by the voice ofhis experience tnie. 
Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone 
Must spring that hope he pants to make his o\vti 
Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; 
Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 
As when a felon, whom his counti-y's laws 
Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause. 
Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears. 
The shameful close of all his misspent years; 
If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, 
A tempest usher in the dreaded moni. 



110 HOPE. 

Upon his dungeon walls the lightning- piay, 

The thunder seems to summon him away, 

The warder at the door his key applies, 

Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage tlic^ ; 

If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost, 

When Hope, long lingering, at last yields tlie ulm t, 

The sound of pardon pierce his startled eai', 

He drops at once his fetters and his fear ; 

A transport glows in all he looks and speaks, 

And the first thankful tears bedew his checks. 

Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs 

The comfort of a few poor added days. 

Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul 

Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. 

'Tis Heaven, all Heaven, descending on the wings 

Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 

'Tis more — 'tis God diffused through every part, 

*Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. 

O welcome now the sun's once hated light, 

His noonday beams were never half so bright. 

Not kindred minds alone are call'd to employ 

Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy ; 

Unconscious nature, all that he surveys, [praise 

Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his 

These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, 
The scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth ; 
These move the censure and illiberal grin 
Of fools, that hate thee and delight in sin : 
But these shall last, when night has quench'd the pole 
And Heaven is all departed as a scroll. 
And when, as Justice has long since decreed. 
This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed. 
Then these thy glorious works, and they who sharfi 
That hope, which can alone exclude despair. 
Shall live exempt from weakness and decay. 
The brightest wonders of an endless day. 

Happy the bard (if that fair name belong 
To him, that blends no fable with his song), 
Whose lines uniting, by an honest art. 
The faithful monitor's and poet's part, 
Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind. 
And, while they captivate, inform the mind : 



CHARITY. Ill 

Still happier, if he till a thankful soil, 
And fruit reward his honourable toil : 
but happier far, who comfort those that wait 
To bear plaiii truth at Judah's hallow'd gate ; 
Tljeir language siuiple, as their manners meek, 
N'o shining ornaments have they to seek ; 
Nfor labour they, nor time nor talents waste, 
!a sorting" flowers to suit a fickle taste ; 
Hut while they speak the wisdom of the skie?, 
Whicn art can only darken and disgiiise, 
ITie abundant harvest, recompense divine, 
Repays theii work — the gleaning only mine. 



CHARITY. 

' Quo nihil niajus meliusve terris 

Fata donavere, bonique divi ; 

Nee dabunt, qiiamvis redeaut in aurum 

Terapora priscum.'— //or. Lib. iv. Od. 2. 

Fairest and foremost of the train that wait 

On man's most dignified and happiest state, 

Whether we name thee Charity or Love 

Chief grace below, and all in all above, 

Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea) 

A task I venture on, impell'd by thee : 

O never seen but in thy bless'd effects. 

Or felt but in the soul that Heaven selects; 

Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known 

To other hearts, must have thee in his own. 

Come, prompt me with benevolent desires. 

Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires, 

And, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem 

A poet's name by making- thee the theme. 

God, working- ever on a social plan. 
By various ties attaches man to man : 
He made at first, though free and unconfined. 
One man the common father of the kind ; 
That every tribe though placed as he sees best. 
Where seas or deserts part them from the rest. 
Differing- in language, manners, or in face. 
Might feel themselves allied to all the race. 



112 CHARITY, 

When Cook — lamented, and with tears as just 
As ever mingled with heroic dust — 
Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown, 
And in his country's glory sought his own, 
Wherever he found man to nature true, 
The rights of man were sacred in his view ; 
He sooth'd with gifts, and g^-eeted with a smile. 
The simple native of the new-found isle ; 
He spurn'd the wretch, that slighted or withstood 
The tender argument of kindred blood. 
Nor would endure, that any should control 
His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. 

But though some nobler minds a law respect. 
That none shall with impunity neglect. 
In baser souls unniimber'd evils meet, 
To thwart its influence, and its end defeat. 
While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved. 
See Corcez odious for a world enslaved I 
Where wast thou then, sweet Charitv'? where then 
Thou tutelary friend of helpless men? 
Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries foxuid, 
Or building- hospitals on En,i:lish gTound ? 
No. — Mammon makes the world his legatee 
Through fear, not love; and Heaven abhors the fee 
Wherever found (and all men need thy care), 
Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. 
The hand, that slew till it could slay no more, 
Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore. 
Their prince, as justly seated on his throne 
As vain imperial Philip on his own, 
Trick'd out of all his royalty by art, 
That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart. 
Died by the sentence of a shaven priest. 
For scorning- Avhat they taught him to detest. 
How dark tlie veil that intercepts the blaze 
Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways ! 
God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof; 
And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof: 
Tlie wreath he won drew down an instant curse, 
The fretting- plague is in the public purse. 
The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state, 
Starved by that indolence their mines create. 



CHARITY. 113 

Oh could their ancient Incas rise again. 
How would they tate up Israel's taunting strain ! 
Art thou too fallen, Iberia ! Do we see 
The robl)er and the murderer weak as we ; 
Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despite. 
Alike the wi-ath and mercy of the skies. 
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid 
Low in the pits thine avarice has made. 
We come with joy from our eternal rest. 
To see the oppressor in his turn oppress'd. 
Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand 
Roll'd over all our desolated land, 
Shook principalities and kingdoms down, 
And made the mountains tremble at his frown ? 
The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers. 
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted oui-s. 
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils. 
And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. 

Ag'ain — the band of commerce was design'd 
To associate all the branches of mankind ; 
And if a boundless plenty be the robe. 
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. 
Wise to promote whatever end he means, 
God opens fi-uitful nature's various scenes: 
Each climate needs what other climes produce. 
And offers something to the general use ; 
No land but listens to the common call, 
And in return receives supply from all. 
This genial intercourse, and mutual aid. 
Cheers what were else a universal shade. 
Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den. 
And softens human rock-work into men. 
Ingenious Art, with her expressive face. 
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race ; 
Not only fills Necessity's demand. 
But overcharges her capacious hand : 
Capricious Taste itself can crave no more, 
Than stie supplies from her abounding store ; 
She strikes out all that Luxury can ask, 
And gains new vigour at nei endless task. 
Her's is the spaciou'^ arch, the shapely spire- 
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre •- 



114 CHARITY 

Prom her the canvas boiTows li^ht and shade, 
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. 
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys. 
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease. 
And pours a torrent of sweet notes arouno. 
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. 

These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives m.ofif 
Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast ; 
He catches all improvements in his fliglit, 
Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight 
Imports what others have invented well, 
And stirs his own to match them, or excel. 
'Tis thus reciprocating, each ^vitll each, 
Alternately the nations learn and teach ; 
While Providence enjoins to every soul 
A union with the vast ten-aqueous whole. 

Hearven speed the canvass, gallantly unfurVd 
To furnish and accommodate a world. 
To give the pole the produce of the sun. 
And knit the unsocial climates into one. — 
Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave 
Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save. 
To succour wasted regions, and replace 
The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face. — 
Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, 
Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene. 
Charged with a freight transcending in its worth 
The gems of India, Nature's rarest bii-th, 
That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, 
A herald of God's love to pagan lands. 
But ah ! what wish can prosper, or what prayer. 
For merchants rich in cai'goes of despair. 
Who drive a loathsome traffic, gauge, and span, 
And buy the muscles and the bones of man ! 
The tender ties of father, husband, friend. 
All bonds of nature in that moment end ; 
And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, 
A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death. 
The sable wan-ior, frantic with regret 
Of her he loves, and never can forget, 
Loses in tears the far-recedi:ig shore. 
But not ttie thought, that they mu-st meet no 



CHARITY. 11.5 

Deprived of her and freedom at a blow. 
What has he left that he can yet forego ? 
Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resig-n'd, 
He feels his body's bondage in his mind ; 
Puts oil" his generous nature ; and, to suit 
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute» 

O most degrading of all ills, that wait 
On man, a mourner in his best estate I 
All other soitows Virtue may endure. 
And find submission more than half a cure ; 
Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd 
To improve the fortitude that bears the load, 
To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, 
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace ; 
But slavery ! — Virtue dreads it as her grave ; 
Patience itself is meanness in a slave ; 
Or if the will and sovereignty of God 
Bid suffer it a while, and kiss the rod, 
V/ait for the dawning of a brighter day, 
And snap the chain the moment when you may 
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, 
That has a heart and life in it. Be free ! 
The beasts are charter'd — neither age nor force 
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : 
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack ; 
And, conscious of an.unincumber'd back, 
Snuffs up the moraing air, forgets the rein 
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane ; 
Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs ; 
Nor stops till, overleaping all delays, 
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze 

Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian 
name, 
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame ; 
Irade in the blood of innocence, and plead 
Expedience as a warrant for the deed ? 
So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold. 
To quit the forest and invade the fold : 
So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide. 
Dagger in hand, steals close to yom- bedside ; 
Not he, but his emergence forced the door. 
He found it inconvenient to be poor. 



116 CHARITY 

Has God then ghen its sweetness to the cane. 
Unless his laws be trampled on — m vain 1 
Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist. 
Unless his right to inile it be dismiss'd ? 
Impudent blasphemy ! So Folly pleads, 
And Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. 

But grant the plea, and let it stand for just. 
That man make man his prey, because he inust ; 
Still there is room for pity to abate, 
And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state. 
A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, 
The Scripture placed within his reach, he ouglit, 
That souls have no disci-iminating hue, 
Alike important in their Maker's view ; 
That none are free from blemish since the fall, 
And Love divine has paid one price for all. 
The wretch, that works and weeps without relief, 
Has One that notices his silent grief. 
He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds, 
Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds, 
Considers all injustice with a frown ; 
But 7narks the man that treads his fellow down. 
Begone — the whip and bell in that hard hand 
Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command. 
Not Mexico could p\irchase kings a claim 
To scoxu'ge him, weariness his.only blame. 
Remember Heaven has an avenging rod; 
To smite the poor is treason against God. 

Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd. 
While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd : 
We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil. 
Murmuring and v/eary of our daily toil, 
Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's ofler'd shade. 
Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade : 
Else who would lose, that had the power to improve 
The occasion of ti-ansmuting fear to love 1 
O 'tis a godlike privilege to save. 
And he that scorns it is himself a slave. 
Inform his mind ; one flash of heavenly day 
Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. 

Beauty for ashes' is a gift indeed, 
And slaves, by tnith enlarged, are doubly freed. 



CHARITY. 117 

Then would he say, submissive at thy feet. 
While gratitude and love made sei-vice sweet,-— 
My dear deliverer, out of hopeless night, 
Whcse bounty bought me but to give me light, 
I was a bondman ou my native plain, 
Sin forged, and ignorance made fast, the chain 
Thy lips have spread instniction as the dew, 
Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue : 
Farewell my foi-mer joys ! I sigh no more 
For Africa's once loved, benighted shore ; 
Serving a benefactor I am free ; 
At my best home, if not exiled from thee. 

Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds 
A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; 
The swell of T)ity, not to be confined 
Within the scanty limits of the mind, 
Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, 
A rich deposit, on the bordering kinds : 
These have an ear for His paternal call, 
Who makes some rich for the supply of :.ll ; 
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ, 
And Thornton is familiar with the joy. 

O could I worship aught beneatli the skies. 
That earth has seen, or fancy can devise. 
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand. 
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, 
With fragrant turf, and flowers as %vild and fair 
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. 
Duly, as ever on the mountain's height 
The peep of Morning shed a dawning light. 
Again, when Evening, in her sober vest. 
Drew the gTay cuitain of the fading- west. 
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise. 
For the chief blessings of my fairest days : 
But that were sacrilege — praise is not thine. 
But His who gave thee, and preserves thee mine: 
Else 1 would say, and as 1 spake bid fly 
A captive bird into the boundless sky, 
This triple realm adores thee — thou art come 
From Sparta hither, and art here at home. 
We feel tliy force still active, at this hour 
Ejijoy immunity from priostly power. 



118 CHARITY 

While CoHsclence, hap])ier than in ancient years. 
Owns no superior but tlie Goa she fears. 
Propitious spirit ! yet expunge a wrong 
Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long. 
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share 
The fears and hopes of a commercial care. 
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built 
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt ; 
But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, lire, and flood. 
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood ; 
And honest Merit stands on slippery gTound, 
Where covert guile and aitirtce abound. 
Let just Restraint, for public peace design'd, 
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind; 
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, 
But let insolvent Innocence go free. 

Patron of else the most despised of raen, 
Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen ; 
Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed, 
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed ; 
I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame 
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim) 
I must incur, forgetting Hoivard's name. 
Bless'd with all wealth can give thee, to resign 
Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine. 
To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow. 
To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe, 
To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring 

home. 
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, 
But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, 
And only sympathy like thine could reach ; 
That grief, sequester'd from the public stage, 
Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage; 
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal. 
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel. 
tliat the voice of clamour and debate. 
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, 

ere hush'd in favour of thy generous plea, 
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee I 

I'hilosophy, that does not dream or stray. 
Walks arm in arm with Natiwe all his way ; 



CHARITY. 119 

Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 

Whatever steep Inquiry recommends. 

Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll 

Round otlier systems under her control, 

Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light. 

That cheei's the silent journey of the niu;ht. 

And brings at his return a bosom charged 

With rich instruction, and a soiol enlarged. 

The treasured sweets of the capacious plan. 

That Heaven spreads wide before the view of man, 

All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursiie 

Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new ; 

He too has a connecting power, and di-aws 

Man to the centre of the common cause. 

Aiding a dubious and deficient sight 

With a new medium and a purer light. 

All truth is precious, if not all divine ; 

And what dilates the powers must needs refine. 

He reads the skies, and, watching every change 

Provides the faculties an ampler range ; 

And wins niankind, as his attempts prevail, 

A prouder station on the general scale. 

But Reason still, unless divinely taught, 

Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought ; 

The lamp of revelation only shews. 

What human wisdom cannot but oppose. 

That man in nature's richest mantle clad, 

And graced with all philosophy can add. 

Though fair without, and luminous within. 

Is still the progeny and heir of sin. 

Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride. 

He feels his need of an unerring guide. 

And knows that falling he shall rise no more, 

Unless the power that bade him stand restore. 

This is indeed philosophy ; this known 

Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own ; 

And, without this, whatever he discuss; 

Whether the space between the stars and us ; 

Whether he measui-e earth, compute the sea. 

Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea. 

The solemn trifler with his boasted skill 

Toils much, and is a solemn triiler still ; 



120 CHARITY. 

Blind was he Lorn, and his misguided eyes 

Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. 

Self-knowledge, truly learn'd, of course implies 

The rich possession of a nobler prize ; 

For self to self, and God to man reveal'd 

(Two themes to nature's eye for ever seaFd), 

Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace 

From the same centre of enlightening grace. 

Here stay thy foot; how copious, and how clear, 

The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here ! 

Hark! 'tis the music of a thousand rills. 

Some through the groves, some down the sloping hiUs 

Winding a secret or an open course, 

And all supplied from an eternal source. 

The ties of Nature do but feebly bind ; 

And Commerce partially reclaims mankind ; 

Philosophy, without his heavenly guide. 

May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride ; 

But, while his promise is the reasojiing part, 

Has still a veil of midnight on his heart ; 

'Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth. 

Gives Charity her being and her birth. 

Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows, 
What will not argument sometimes suppose ?) 
An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind. 
Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. 
Let Supposition lend her aid once more. 
And land some grave optician on the shore : 
He claps his lens, if haply they may see. 
Close to the part where vision ought to be ; 
But finds, that though his tubes assist the sight, 
They cannot give it, or make darkness light. 
He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud 
A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd ; 
He talks of- light, and the prismatic hues, 
As men of depth in erudition use ; 
But all he gains for his harangue is — Well— 
What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! 

The soul, whose sight aU-quickening grace reiiewH 
Takes the resemblance of the good she A'-'ews, 
As diamonds stripp'd of their opaque disguise, 
Beflect the noonday glory of the skies. 



CHARITY. 121 

She speaks of him, her author, g-uardian. friend, 
Wbose love knew no beginning, knows no end. 
In language warm as all that love inspires, 
And in the glow of her intense desii-es. 
Pants to communicate her noble fires. 
She sees a world stark blind to what employs 
Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys. 
Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call. 
Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all; 
Hei-self as weak as her support is strong, 
She feels that frailty she denied so long ; 
And, from a knowledge of her own disease, 
Leams to compassionate the sic-k she sees. 
Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence. 
The reign of genuine Charity commence. 
Though scorn repay her sympathetic teai-s. 
She still is kind, and still she perseveres; 
The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, 
'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream ; 
The danger they discern not, they deny ; 
Laugh at their only remedy, and die. 
But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease, 
Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. 
Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild, 
Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child : 
She makes excuses where she might condemn. 
Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them; 
Suspicion lurks not in ber artless breast, 
The worst suggested, she believes the best; 
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, 
And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased ; 
She rather waives than will dispute her right, 
And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight 

Such was the portrait an apostle drew , 
The bright original was one he knew ; 
Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. 

When one that holds communion with the skies, 
Has fillM his urn where these pure waters rise. 
And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied, 
F 



122 CHARITY. 

So when a ship, wed freighted with the stores 
The sun matures on India's spicy shores, , 

Has dr»pp'd her anchoi:, and her canvass furi'd. 
In some safe haven of our western world, 
'Twei'e vain inquiry to what )U)it she went. 
The gale infoi-ms us, laden witn the scent. 

Some seek, when queasy conscience has its quakuP; 
To lull the painful malady with alms ; 
But charity not feign'd intends alone 
Another's good — theirs centres in their own ; 
And, too short-lived to reach the realms of peace. 
Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. 
Flavia, most tender of her own good name. 
Is rather careless of her sister's fame : 
Her superfluity the poor supplies, 
But, if she touch a character, it dies. 
The seeming virtue weigh 'd against the vice, 
She deems all safe, for she has paid the price : 
No charity but alms aught values she. 
Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. 
How many deeds, with which the world has rung. 
From pride, in league with ignorance, have s.prung 
But God o'errules all human follies still. 
And bends the tough materials to his will. 
A conflagration, or a wintry flood. 
Has left some hundreds witliout home or food : 
Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe. 
While fame and self-complact.nce are the bribe. 
The grief proclaim'd, it visits every pew. 
But first the 'squire's, a compliment but due : 
With slow deliberation he unties 
His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes. 
And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psa?lm. 
Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; 
Till finding, what he might have found before, 
A smaller piece amidst the precious store, 
Pinch'd close between his finger and his thujnb. 
He half exhibits, and then drops the svim. 
Gold to be sure ! — Throughout the town 'tis told. 
How the good 'squire gives never less than gold. 
From motives such as his, though not the best, 
Spring3 in due time supply for the distress'd ; 



CHARITY. 128 

Not less effectual than what love bestows, 
Except that office clips it as it goes. 

But, lest I seem to siu against a friend. 
And wound the grace I mean to recommend 
(Though vice derided with a just design 
Implies no trespass against love divine), 
Once more I would adopt the graver style, 
A teacher should be sparing- of his smile. 
Unless a love of virtue light the flame. 
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame*, 
He hides behind a magisterial air 
His own offences, and strips others bare ; 
Afi'ects indeed a most huioane concern. 
That men, if gently tutor'd, will not learn ; 
That mulish Folly, not to be reclaim'd 
By softer methods, must be made ashamed ; 
But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) 
Too often rails to gratify his spleen. 
Most satirists are indeed a public scourge ; 
Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge ; 
Their acrid temper tui-ns, as soon as stirr'd. 
The milk of their good pui-jjose all to curd. 
Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, 
By lean despair upon an empty purse. 
The wild assassins start into the street. 
Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet. 
No skill in swordmanship, however just, 
Can be secure azainst a madman's thrust; 
And even Virtue, so unfairly match'd. 
Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch d. 
When scandal has new minted an old lie. 
Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 
'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears 
Gathering around it with erected ears : 
A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd ; 
Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud. 
Just as the sapience of an author's brain 
Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. 
Strange! how the frequent interjected dash 
Quickens a market, and helps off the trash; 
The important letters that include the rest, 
Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd 



124 CHAlllTY. 

Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, 

fhe -world is charm 'd, and Scrib escapes the law. 

80, when the cold damp shades of night prevail, 

Worms may be caught by either head or tail ; 

Forcibly dra\vn from many a close recess, 

They meet with little pity, no redress ; 

Plunged in the sci'eam they lodge upon tue mud. 

Food for the famish'd rovers of the flood. 

All zeal for a reform, that gives offence 

To peace and charity, is mere pretence: 

A bold remark, but which, if well applied. 

Would humble many a towering poet's pride. 

Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit. 

And had no other play-place for his wit ; 

Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame, 

He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame ; 

Perhaps — whatever end he might pursue, 

The cause of virtue could not be his view. 

At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes ; 

The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise, 

But shine with cruel and tremendous charms, 

"jfhat, while they please, possess us with alarms : 

So have I seen (and hasten'd to the sight 

On all the wings of holiday delight). 

Where stands that monument of ancient power. 

Named, with emphatic digiiity, the Tower, 

Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, 

In starry forms disposed upon the wall ; 

We wonder, as we gazing stand below. 

That brass and steel should make so fine a show ; 

But though we praise the exact designer's skill. 

Account them implements of mischief still. 

No works shall find acceptance in that day, 
When all disguises shall be rent away. 
That square not truly -with the Scripture plan. 
Nor spring from love to God, nor love to man 
As he ordains things sordid in their birth 
To be resolved into their parent earth ; 
And though the soul shall seek superior orbs, 
Whate'er this world produces, it absorbs ; 
So self starts nothing, but what tends apace 
Home to the goal, where it began the race. 



CHAllITY. 125 

Such ari our motive is, our aim must be , 
If this be servile, that can ne'er be free: 
If self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought. 
We glorify that self, not him we ought ; 
Such viitues had need prove their own rewarvl 
The Judge of all men owes them no regard. 
True Charity, a plant divinely nursed, 
J Fed by the love from which it rose at first, 
Thrives against hope, and, in the rudest scene, 
Storms but enliven its unfading- green: 
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies. 
Its fruits on earth, its growth above the skies. 
To look at Him, who form'd us and redeem'd. 
So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd. 
To see a God stretch forth his human hand, 
To uphold the boundless scenes of his command ; 
To recollect that in a form like ours. 
He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powersj 
Captivity led captive, rose to claim 
The wreath he won so dearly in our name; 
That, throned above all height, he condescends 
To call the few that trust in him his friends ; 
That, in the Heaven of heavens, that space he 

deems 
Too scanty for the exertion of his beams. 
And shines, as if impatient to bestow 
Life and a kingdom upon worms below; 
That sight imparts a never-dying flame, 
Though feeble in degree, in kind the same 
Like him the soul, thus kindled from above, 
Spreads wide her arms of universal love ; 
And, still enlarged as she receiver tlie grace, 
Includes creation in her close embrace. 
Behold a Christian ! and without the fires 
The Founder of that name alone inspires. 
Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet. 
To make the shining prodigy complete. 
Whoever boasts that name — behold a cheat! 
Were love, in these the world's last doting years, 
As frequent as the want of it appears, 
The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold 
Such frozen fig-ures, stiff aa they are rold ; 



I2ti CONVEllSATION. 

Relenting forms woiild losf their power, or cease ; 
And e'en the dipp'd and spiinkled live in peace ; 
Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, 
And flow in free communion with the rest. 
The statesman, skill'd in projects dark and deep, 
Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep ; 
His budget often fill'd, yet always poor. 
Might swing at ease behind his study door. 
No longer prey npon our annual rents. 
Or scare the nation with its big contents : 
Disbanded legions freely might depart, 
And slaying man would cease to be an art. 
No learned disputants would take the field, 
Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield ; 
Both sides deceived, if rightly understood. 
Pelting each other for the public good. 
Did charity prevail, the press would prove 
A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love ; 
And I might spare myself the pains to shew 
Wliat few can learn, and all suppose they know. 
Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay 
With many a wild, indeed, but flowery spray. 
In hopes to gain what else I must have lost. 
The attention pleasure has so much engross'd. 
But if, unhappily deceived, I dream. 
And prove too weak for so divine a tixeme, 
Let Charity forgive me a mistake 
That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make, 
And spare the poet for his subject's sake. 



CONVERSATION. 

• Nam neque mc tantum veiiientis sibilus Austri, 
Nee percussa juvant fliictu tam litora, nee nuae 
Saxosas inter decurrunt llumina vMt:s.'-~ViTg. Ed. 

Though nature weigh our talents, and dispenae 

To every man his modicum of sense. 

And Conversation, in its better part, 

May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art. 

Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil. 

On culture, and the sowing of the soil. 



CONVERSATION. 127 

Words leam'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, 

But talking is not always to converse ; 

Not more distinct from harmony divine. 

The constant creaking of a country sign. 

As alphabets in ivory employ 

Hour after hour the yet unletter'd hoy. 

Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee 

Those seeds of science call'd his ABC; 

So language in the mouth of the adult — 

Witness its insignificant result — 

Too often proves an implement of play, 

A toy to sport with, and pass time away. 

Collect at evening what the day hrought forth, 

Compress the sum into its solid worth. 

And if it weigh the importance of a fly, 

The scales are false, or algebra a lie. 

Sacred intei-preter of human thought, 

How few respect or use thee as they ought ! 

But all shall give account of every wrong, 

Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue ; 

Who prostitute it in the cause of vice. 

Or sell their glory at the market price ; 

Who vote for hire, or point it ^vith lampoon, 

The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon. 

There is a prurience in the speech of some. 
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb : 
His wise forbearance has their end in view, 
They fill their measure, and receive their due. 
The heathen lawgivers of ancient days, 
Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise. 
Would drive them forth from the resort of men, 
And shut up every sat^T in his den. 
O come not ye near innocence anrl truth. 
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth I 
Infectious as impure, your blighting power 
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower; 
Its odour perish'd and its charming hue. 
Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. 
Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage 
Of adolescence, or a firmer age, 
AflJbrds a plea allowable or just 
For making speech the pamperer of lust j 



128 CONVERSATION. 

But when the breath of age coimnits the fault, 
'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. 
So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scens. 
No longer fruitful, and no longer green ; 
The sapless wood, divested of the bark., 
Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark. 

Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife-- 
Some men have siuely then a peaceful life ; 
Whatever subject occupy discourse, 
The feats of Vestris, or ihe naval force. 
Asseveration blustering in your face 
Makes contradiction such a hopeless case : 
In every tale they tell, or false or true, 
Well known, or such as no man ever knew, 
They fix attention, heedless of your pain. 
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ; 
And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, 
They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. 
A Persian, humble servant of the sun, 
Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, 
Hearing a lawyer grave in his address. 
With adjurations every word impress, 
Supposed the man a bishop, or, at least, 
God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; 
Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs, 
And begg'd an int'rest in his frequent prayers. 

Go, quit tlie rank to which ye stood preferr'd, 
Henceforth associate in one common herd: 
Religion, virtue, reason, common sense. 
Pronounce your human form a false pretence ; 
A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks. 
Who yet betrays his secrets by his works. 

Ye powers who iiile the tongue, if such there art 
And make colloquial happiness your care, 
Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
A duel in the form of a debate. 
The clash of arguments and jar of words, 
Woi-se than the mortal brunt of rival swords. 
Decide no question with their tedious length. 
For opposition gives opinion strength. 
Divert the champions prodigal of breath ; 
And put the psaceably-disposed to death. 



CONVERSATION. . 129 

thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every tiu-n. 
Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ; 
Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 

1 am not surely always in the wrong ; 
'Tis hard if all is false that I advance, 

A fool must now and then be right by chance. 
Not that all freedom of dissent 1 blame ; 
No — there 1 grant the privilege I claim. 
A disputable point is no man's ground ; 
Rove where you pleai»e, 'tis common all around 
Discourse may want an animated — No, 
To brush the surface and to make it flow : 
But still remember if you mean to please, 
To press your point with modesty and ease. 
The mark, at which ray juster aim I take. 
Is contradiction for its ovvii dear sake. 
Set your opinion at whatever pitch, 
Knots and impediments make something hitch ^ 
Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain. 
Your thread of argument is snapp'd again ; 
The wrangler, rather than accord with you, 
Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. 
Vociferated logic kills me quite, 
A noisy man is always in the right : 
I twirl my tliumbs, fall back into my chair. 
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, 
,^]d when I hope liis blunders are all out. 
Reply discreetly — To be sure — no doubt ! 
Duhius is such a scrupulous good man — 
Yes — you may catch him tripping if you can. 
He would not, with a peremptory tone, 
Assert the nose upon his face his own ; 
With hesitation admirably slow, 
He humbly hopes — presumes — it may be so. 
His evidence, if he were call'd by law 
To swear to some enormity he saw. 
For want of prominence and just relief, 
Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. 
Through constant dread of giving tnith offence 
He ties up all his hearers in suspense ; 
Knows, what he knows, as if he knew it not, 
What he remembers seems to have for^ti:nt ; 
F 2 



130 CONVERSATION. 

His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befal, 

Centering at last in having none at all. 

Yet, though he tease and balk your listening ear. 

He makes one useful point exceeding clear, 

Howe'er ixigenious on his darling theme 

A sceptic in philosophy may seem, 

Reduced to practice, his beloved rule 

Would only prove him a consummate fool ; 

Useless in him alike both brain and speech. 

Fate having placed all truth above his reach, 

His ambigixities his total sum. 

He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. 

Where men of judgment creep and feel their w«> 
The positive pronounce without dismay ; 
Their want of light and intellect supplied 
By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. 
Without the means of knowing right from wrong. 
They always are decisive, clear, and strong ; 
Where others toil with philosophic force, 
Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course ; 
Flings at your head conviction in a lump. 
And gains remote conclusions at a jump ; 
Their own defect, invisible to them. 
Seen in another, they at once condemn ; 
And, though self-idolized in every case. 
Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. 
The cause is plain, and not to be denied. 
The proud are always most provoked by pride : 
Few competitions but engender spite ; 
And those the most where neither has a right. 

The point of honour has been deem'd of use. 
To teach good manners and to curb abuse ; 
Admit it true, tlie consequence is clear, 
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, 
And at the bottom, barbarous still and rude. 
We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdued. 
The very remedy, however sure. 
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, 
And savage in its principle, appeare. 
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. 
'TIS hard, indeed, if nothing will defend 
Mankind from quarrels, but their fatal end ; 



CONVERSATION. 131 

rhat now and then a hero must decease, 
That the surviving world may live in peacp. 
Perhaps at last close scrutiny may shew 
The practice dastardly, and mean, and low 
That men engage in it, compell'd by force. 
And fear, not courage, is its proper source ; 
The fear of tyraut custom, and the fear 
Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sne«rc 
At least to trample on our Maker's laws, 
And hazard life for any or no cause. 
To rush into a fix'd eternal state 
Out of the vei"y flames of rage and hate. 
Or send another shiv'ring to the bar 
With all the guilt of such unnatural war. 
Whatever Use may urge, or Honour plead, 
On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 
Am I to set my life upon a throw, 
Because a bear is rude and surly ? No— 
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man 
Will not affront me ; and no other can. 
Were I empower'd to regulate the lists. 
They should encounter with well-loaded fists ; 
A Trojan combat would be something new. 
Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue ; 
Then each might shew to his admiring friends. 
In honourable buiftps his rich amends, 
And carry in contusions of his skull, 
A satisfactory receipt in full. 

A story in which native humour reigns. 
Is often useful, always entertains ; 
A graver fact, enlisted on your side. 
May furnish illustration, well applied ; 
But sedentary weavers of long tales 
Give me the lidgets, and my patience fails. 
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth. 
To hear them tell of parentage and birth, 
And echo conversations dull and dry, 
Embellish'd with — He said, and So said I. 
At every interview their route the same 
The repetition makes attention lame : 
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed. 
And in the paddest part cry — Droll, itideed 



132 CONVL^lRSATION. 

The path of narrative with care pursue, 
Still making' probability your clue : 
On all the vestages of truth attend, 
And let them giiide you to a decent end. 
Of all ambitions man may entertain. 
The worst that can invade a sickly 1,'rain, 
Is that, which angles hourly for surprise, 
And baits its hook with prodigies and lies, 
Credulous infancy, or a»e as weak. 
Are fittest auditors for such to seek. 
Who to please others \v\W themselves di8j;-rRr.< 
Yet please not, but affront you to your face, 
A great retailer of this curious ware 
Having unloaded and made many stare, 
Can this be true ? — an arch observer cries. 
Yes (rather moved), 1 saw it witli these eyes. 
Sir ! I believe it on that ground alone ; 
I could not, had I seen it with my own. 

A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct; 
The language plain, and incidents well link'd ; 
Tell not as new what every body knows. 
And, new or old, still hasten to a close ; 
There, centering in a focus round and neat. 
Let all your rays of information meet. 
What neither yields ua profit nor delight 
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night: 
Guy, earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore, 
Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more. 

The pipe, with solemn interposing puff. 
Makes half a sentence at a time enough ; 
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain. 
Then pause, and puff — and speak, andjjause agaif' 
Such often, like the tube they so admire, 
Important triflers I have more smoke than fire. 
Pernicious weed I whose scent the fair annoys. 
Unfriendly to society's chief joys. 
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours 
The sex whose presence civilizes oxirs : 
Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants, 
To poison vermin that infest his plants ; 
But are we so to wit and beauty blind, 
As to despise the glory of oiir kinfl. 



CONVKKbATlON. 188 

And shew the softest minds and fairest forms 
As little mercy, as he grubs and worms ? 
They dare not wait the riotous abuse 
Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce, 
When wine has given indecent language bh'th, 
And forced the floodgates of licentious mirth ; 
For sea-born Venus her attachment shews 
Still to that element from which she rose, 
And with a quiet, which no fumes distui'b. 
Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. 

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose 
In contact ir convenient, nose to nose. 
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 
Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his. 
His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large. 
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge, 
An extract of his diary — ^no more, 
A tasteless journal of the day before. 
He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 
Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again 
Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk 
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 
I interrupt him with a sudden bow, 
Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now. 

I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume , 
The sight's enough — no need to smell a beau — 
Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show ? 
His odoriferous attempts to please 
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees : 
But we that make no honey though we sting. 
Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 
'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort, 
What makes some sick, and others d-la-mort : 
An argument of cogence, we may say, 
Why such a one should keep himself away. 
A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see. 
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he : 
A shallow brain behind a serious mask, 
An oracle within an empty cask, 
The solemn fop ; significant and budge ; 
A. fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ; 



134 CONVERSATION 

He says but little, and that little said 

Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 

His wit invites you by his looks to come, 

But when you knock, it never is at home. 

'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage. 

Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ; 

'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 

An absent friend's fidelity and love : 

But when unpack'd, your disappointment groans 

To find it stufTd with brickbats, earth, and stone? 

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick. 
In making known how oft they have been sick. 
And give us in recitals of disease 
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees; 
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, 
How an emetic or cathartic sped ; 
Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot. 
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. 
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, 
Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill ; 
And now — alas for unforeseen mishaps ! 
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ; 
They thought they must have died, they were so bad 
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. 

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch, 
You always do too little or too much : 
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, 
Your elevated voice goes through the brain ; 
You fall at once into a lower key. 
That's worse — the drone-pipe of an humble bee. 
The southern sash admits too strong a light, 
You rise and drop the curtain — now 'tis night. 
He shakes with cold — you stir the fire, and strive 
To make a blaze — that's roasting him alive. 
Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; 
W^ith soW — that's just the sort he does not wish. 
He takes what he at first profess'd to loath. 
And in due time feeds heartily on both ; 
Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant frown. 
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. 
Your hope to please him vain on every plan. 
Himself should work tJiat wonder, if he can — 



CUNVKli.SATlON. 135 

Was ! bis efforts double his distress, 
He lilies yours little, and his own still less. 
Thus always teasing others, always teased. 
His only pleasure is — to be displeased. 

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain 
Of fancied scorn, and undeserved disdain. 
And hear the marks upon a blushing face 
Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace. 
Our sensibilities are so acute, 
J'he fear of being silent makes us mute. 
We sometimes think we could a speech produce 
Much to the purpose, if our tongues wei'e loose ; 
But being tried, it dies upon the lip 
Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip : 
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns. 
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 
Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd ; 
It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd. 
By Avay of wholesome curb upon our pride, 
To fear each other, fearing none beside ; 
The cause perhaps inquiry may descijy. 
Self-searching with an introverted eye, 
Conceal'd within an unsuspected part. 
The vainest comer of our own vain heart : 
For ever aiming at the world's esteem. 
Our self-importance ruins its own scheme ; 
In other eyes our talents rarely shewn. 
Become at length so splendid in our own. 
We dare not risk them into public view. 
Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. 
True modesty is a discerning grace. 
And only blushes in the proper place ; 
But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear« 
Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed t' appear : 
Humility the parent of the first. 
The last by Vanity produced and nursed. 
The circle form'd, we sit in silent state 
Like figures drawn upon a dial plate 
Yes, ma'am, and no ma'am, utter'd softly, shew 
Every five minutes how the minutes go 
Each individual suffering a consti-aint 
Poetry may, but colours cannot, paint • 



13tt CONVERSATION. 

As if in close committee on the sky. 
Reports it hot or cohl, or wet or dry •, 
And finds a changing- clime a happy source 
Of wise reflection, and well-timed discourse. 
We next inquire, but softly and by stealth. 
Like conservators of the public health, 
Of epidemic throats, if such there are. 
And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh 
That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 
Fill'd up at last with interesting- news. 
Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed, 
And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed : 
But fear to call a more important cause, 
As if 'twere treason against English laws. 
The visit paid, with ecstacy we come, 
As from a seven years' transportation, home. 
And there resume an unembarass'd brow, 
Recovering what we lost we know not how. 
The faculties, that seem'd reduced to nought. 
Expression, and the privilege of tliought. 
The reeking, i^aring hero of the chase, 
I give him over as a desperate case. 
Physicians write in hopes to work a cure, 
Never, if honest ones, when death is sure ; 
And though the fox he follows may be tamed, 
A mere fox-follower never is reclaim'd. 
Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, 
Whose only fit companion is his horse. 
Or if, deserving of a better doom. 
The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. 
Yet e'en the rogue that serves him, though he stand, 
To take his honour's orders, cap in hand. 
Prefers his fellow-grooms with much good sense, 
Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. 
If neither horse nor groom aftect tiie 'squire. 
Where can at last his jockeyship retire ? 
O to the club, the scene of savage joys, 
The school of coarse good fellowship and noise ; 
There, in the sweet society of those. 
Whose fiieudship from his boyish years he chose. 
Let him improve his talent if he can. 
Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. 



CONVERSATION. I'iJ 

Man's heart had been impenetrahly seal'd. 
Like theirs tliat cleave the flood or graze the field. 
Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand 
Giv'n him a soul, and bade him understand ; 
The reasoning power vouchsafed of course inferr'd 
The power to clothe that reason with his word ; 
For all is perfect, that God works on earth. 
And He, that gives conception, aids the birth. 
If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood, 
What uses of his boon the Giver would. 
The mind, dispatch 'd upon her busy toil. 
Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil ; 
Visiting every flower with labour meet, 
And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet. 
She should imbue the tongue with what she sips, 
And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, 
That good diffused may more abundant grow. 
And speech may praise the power that bids it flow. 
Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night. 
That fills the listening lover with delight, 
Forget his harmony, with rapture heard, 
To learn the twittering of a meaner bird 1 
Or make the paiTot's mimicry his choice, 
That odious libel on a human voice ? 
No — Nature, unsophisticate by man. 
Starts not aside from her Creator's plan ; 
The melody, that was at first desigii'd 
To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind. 
Is note for note deliver'd in our ears. 
In the last scene of her six thousand yeai'S. 
Yet Fashion, leader of her chattering train. 
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign, 
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape. 
And would degrade her votary to an ape. 
The fmitful parent of abuse and v/rong, 
Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue ; 
There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace,, 
Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace. 
And when accomplish'd in her wayw?.rd school. 
Calls gentleman whom she has mad© a fool. 
'Tis an unalterable fix'd decree, 
That none could frame or ratify but she. 
K 



i 38 CONVERSATION. 

That heaven and hell, and righteousness and sin, 

Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, 

God and his attributes (a field of day 

Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray), 

Fruits of his love, and wonders of his miiiht, 

Be never named in ears esteeui'd polite. 

That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, 

Sliall stand proscribed, a madman or a knave, 

A close designer, not to be believea, 

Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived 

Oh, Folly, worthy of the nurse's lap, 

Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap ! 

Is it incredible, or can it seem 

A dream to any, except those that dream. 

That man should love his Maker, and titat fire, 

Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire ? 

Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, 

And veil your daring crest that braves the skies, 

That air of insolence affronts your God, 

You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : 

Now in a posture that becomes you more 

Than that heroic strut assumed befoi'e. 

Know your an-cai's with e^'ery hour accrue 

For mercy shewn, while wrath is jvistly due. 

The time is sliort, and there are souls on earth, 

Though future pain may serve foi present mirth. 

Acquainted with the woes, that fear or shame. 

By Fashion taught, forbade them once to name. 

And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest, 

Have proved them truths too big to be express'd. 

Go seek on revelation's hallow'd gi'ound, 

Sure to succeed, the remedy they found ; 

Touch'd by that power that you have dared to mock 

That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock. 

Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream, 

That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. 

It happen'd on a solemn eventide. 
Soon after lie that wad our surety died. 
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, 
The scene of all those sorrows left behind, 
Sought their own village, busied as they went 
In miisings worthy of the great event : 



CONVERSATION. JJJ) 

They spake of him they loved, of him whose life. 
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife. 
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile aiis, 
A deep memorial srraven on their hearts. 
The recollection, like a vein of ore, 
The farther traced, enrich 'd them still the more ; 
They thought him, and they justly thought him, cue 
Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done ; 
To exalt a people, and to place them high 
Above all else, and wonder'd he shoiild die. 
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, 
And ask'd them, with a kind, engaging air. 
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. 
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread, 
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, 
Explain'd, illus rated, and search'd so well 
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, 
That reaching home, The night, they said, is near, 
We must not now be parted— sojourn here. 
The new acquaintance soon became a guest. 
And, made so welcome at their simple feast. 
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word. 
And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord! 
Did not our hearts feel all he deigii'd to say. 
Did they not bum within us by the way? 

Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves • 
Man to maintain, and such as God approves : 
Their views indeed were indistinct and dim. 
But yet successful, being aim'd at him. 
Christ and his character their only scope. 
Their object, and their subject, and their hope. 
They felt what it became them much to feel. 
And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal 
Found him as prompt, as their desire was true 
To spread the new-born glories in their view. 
Well— what are ages and the lapse of time 
Match'd against ti-uths, as lasting as sublime ? 
Car. length of years on God himself exact ? 
Or make that fiction, which was once a fact? 
No -marble and recording brass decay. 
And like the graver's memory pass away; 



140 COISVEKSATION. 

The works of man inherit, as is just. 

Their author's frailty, and leturn to duat: 

But ti-uth divine for ever stands secure. 

Its head is guarded, as its base is sure ; 

Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years. 

The pillar of the eternal plan appears, 

The raving storm and dashing wave defies, 

Built by that architect, who built the skies. 

Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour 

That love of Christ, and all its quickening power; 

An ; lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, 

Whose wisdom, dravm from the deep well of life. 

Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows 

A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes. 

O days of Heaven, and nights of equal praise, 

Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days. 

When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet 

Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat. 

Discourse, as if released and safe at home. 

Of dangers pass'd, and wonders yet to come. 

And spread the sacred treasures of the breast 

Upon the lap of covenanted Rest. 

What, always dreaming over heavenly things. 
Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon-wings? 
Canting and whining oxit all day the word. 
And half the night i fanatic and absurd ! 
Mine be the friend less frequent in his prayers. 
Who makes no buatle with his soul's affairs, 
Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day, 
And chase the splenetic dull hours away: 
Content on earth in earthly things to shine, 
Who waits for Heaven ere he becomes divine; 
Leaves saints t* enjoy those altitudes they teach, 
And plucks the fruit placed more within hia reach. 

Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame. 
Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. 
Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right 1 
The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light? 
Can hopes of Heaven, bright prospects of an hour. 
That come to waft us out of Soitow's power. 
Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds 
Its happiest soil in the serenest minds i 



CONVKRSATION. Ul 

Reli^on curbs indeed itd waaton play. 

And brings the tritier under rigorous swf. y, 

But gives it usefulness unknown before. 

And, purifying, makes it shine the more. 

A Christian's wit is iuotfensive light, 

A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight; 

Vigorous in age as in the liush of youth, 

'Tis always active on the side of truth ' 

Temperance and peace ensure its healthful state. 

And make it brightest at its latest date. 

Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain. 

Ere life go down, to see such sights again) 

A veteran warrior in the Christian field, 

Who never saw the sword he could not wield; 

Grave without dulnesa, learned without pride. 

Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed; 

A man that would have foil'd at their own play 

A do/-en would-be's of the modern day; 

Who, when occasion justified its use. 

Had wit as bright as ready to produce ; 

Could fetch from records of an earlier age. 

Or from philosophy's enlighteu'd page. 

His rich materials, and regale your ear 

With strains it was a privilege to hear: 

Yet above all, his luxury supreme. 

And his chief glory, was the Gospel theme ; 

There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, 

His happy eloquence seem'd there at home, — 

Ambitious not to shine or to excel, 

But to ti-eat justly what he loved so well. 

It moves me more perhaps than folly ought. 
When some green heads, as void of wit as thought, 
Suppose themselves monopolists of sense. 
And wiser men's ability pretence. 
Though time will wear us, and we must grow old. 
Such men are not forgot as soon as cold. 
Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, 
Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume. 
And to say truth, though in its early prime. 
And when unstain'd with any grosser crime. 
Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast. 
That in the valley of decline are lost, 



142 CONVEESATION. 

And Virtue, with poculiar charms, appears 

Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years^ 

Yet age, by long experience well inform'd, 

Well readi well temper'd, with religion warm'd. 

That fire abated which impels rash youth. 

Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth, 

As time improves the grape's authentic juice. 

Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use, 

And claims a reverence in its shortening day, 

That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. 

The fniits of Age, less fair, are yet more sound, 

Than those a brighter season pours around; 

And, like the stores autumnal suns mature, 

Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure. 

What is fanatic frenzy, scom'd so much. 

And dreaded more than a contagious touch 1 

I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear. 

That fire is catching if you draw too near ; 

But sage observers oft mistake the flame, 

And give true piety that odious name. 

To tremble (as the creature of an hour 

Ought at the view of an Almighty power) 

Before his presence, at whose awful throne 

All tremble in all worlds, except our own ; 

To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, 

And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praisj?; 

Though common sense, allow'd a casting voice, 

And free from bias, must approve the choice ; 

Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme. 

And wild as madness in the world's esteem. 

But that disease, when soberly defined. 

Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind ; 

It views the truth with a distorted eye. 

And either warps or lays it useless by ; 

'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws 

It." sordid nourishment from man's applause ; 

And while at heart sin uurelinquish'd lies. 

Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies. 

'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds 

In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds. 

Shines in the dark, but usher'd into day, 

The stench remains, the lustre dies away. 



COJsVEKSATION. 143 

True bliss, if man may reach it, is composes 
Of hearts in union mutually disclosed ; 
And, farewell else all hope of pure delight,. 
Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright. 
Bad men, profaning- friendship's hallow'd name. 
Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame, 
A, dark confederacy against the laws 
Of virtue, and religion's glorious cause : 
They build each other up with dreadful skill. 
As bastions set point blank against God's will ; 
Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt. 
Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out; 
Call legions up from hell to back the deed ; 
And, cursed with conquest, finally succeed. 
But souls, that can-y on a bless'd exchange 
Of joys they meet with in their heavenly ran^e 
And with a fearless confidence make known 
The sorrows, sympathy esteems its own. 
Daily derive increasing light and force 
From such communion in their pleasant course. 
Feel less the journey's roughness and its length. 
Meet their opposers with united strength, 
And, one in heart, in interest, and design. 
Gird up each other to the race divine. 

But Conversation, choose what theme we may. 
And chiefly when religion leads the way. 
Should flow, like waters after summer showers. 
Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. 
The Christian, in whose soul, though now distress 'd. 
Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd, 
When all his glowing lang-uage issued forth 
With God's deep stamp upon its current worth, 
Will speak without disguise, and must impart. 
Sad as it is, his undisseml)ling heart, — 
Abhc-s constraint, a;id darrs not feign a zeal. 
Or seem to boas, a fire he does not feel. 
The song of Zion is a tasteless thing. 
Unless, when rising ou a joyful wing. 
The soul can mix with the celestial bands, 
And give the strain the compass it demands. 

Strange tidings these to tell a World, who treat 
All but their own experience as deceit ! 



14-4 CONVERSATION. 

Will they believe, thou;^h ci-ediilous enjug'b 

To swallow much upon much weakei- proof. 

That there are bless'd inhabitants of earth, 

Partakers of a new ethereal biith, 

Their hopes, desires, and purposes esti-auti,ed 

From things teiTestrial, and divinely changed 

Their very language of a kind that speaks 

The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks, 

Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt, 

As TuUy with Philosophy once dealt. 

And in the silent watches of the night, 

And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, 

The social walk, or solitary ride, 

Keep still the dear companion at their side 

No — shame upon a self-disgracing age, 

God's work may serve an ape upon a stage 

With STich a jest, as fill'd with hellish glee 

Certain invisibles as shrewd as he ; 

But veneration or respect linds none, 

Save from the subjects of that work alone. 

The World grown old her deep discernment sh iw^ 

Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose. 

Peruses closely the true Christian's face. 

And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace ; 

Usurps God's office, lays his bosom bare. 

And finds hypocrisy close lurking there ; 

And, serving God herself through mere constraint, 

Concludes his luifeign'd love of him a feint. 

And yet, God knows, look human nature through 

(And in due time the World shall know it too). 

That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast. 

That after man's defection laid all waste, 

Sincerity towards the heart-searching God 

Has made the new-born creature her abode. 

Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls. 

Till the last fire bum all between the poles. 

Sincerity ! why 'tis his only pride. 

Weak and imperfect in nil grace beside. 

He knows that God demards his heart entire. 

And gives him all his just demands require. 

Without it his pretensions were as vain, 

A«, having it, he deems the World's disdam ; 



CONVERSATION. 145 

That great defect woiild cost him not alone 
Man's favouraMe judgment, but his o\vn ; 
His birthright shaken, and no longer clear, 
Than while his conduct prove his heart sincere. 
Retort the charge, and let the World be told 
She boasts a confidence she does not hold ; 
That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead 
A cold misgiving, and a killing dread : 
That while in health, the ground of her support 
Is madly to forget that life is short ; 
That sick, she trembles, knowing she must die. 
Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie ; 
That while she dotes, and dreams that she belicA'eS; 
She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives. 
Her utmost reach, historical assent, 
The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant ; 
That truth itself is in her head as dull 
And useless as a candle in a skull. 
And all her love of God a groundless claim, 
A trick upon the canvass, painted flame. 
Tell her again, the sneer upon her face, 
And all her censures of the work of grace, 
Are insincere, meant only to conceal 
A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel ; 
That in her heart the Christian she reveres. 
And while she seems to scora him, only fears. 

A poet does not work by square or line, 
As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; 
At least we modems, our attention less. 
Beyond the example of our sires digress. 
And claim a right to scamper and ruji wide. 
Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy giude. 
The world and I foi-tuitously met, 
I owed a trifle, and have paid the debt ; 
She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed. 
And, having struck the balance, now proceed. 
Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd 
Since she and I conversed together last. 
And I have lived recluse in rural shades, 
Which seldom a distinct report pervades. 
Great changes and new manners have occiirr'd. 
And bless'd refonns, that I have never heard. 
O 



146 CONVERSATION. 

And she may now be as discreet and wise, 

JL» once absurd in all discerning eyes. 

Sobriety perhaps may now be found, 

Where once Intoxication press'd the groiind. 

The subtle and injurious may be just, 

And he grown chaste, that was the slave of lust; 

Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismiss'd ; 

Charity may relax the miser's fist ; 

The gamester may have cast his cards away, 

Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray 

It has indeed been told me (with what weight. 

How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state). 

That fables old, that seem'd for ever mute. 

Revived, are hastening into fresh repute, 

And gods and goddesses discarded long. 

Like useless lumber, or a stroller's song. 

Are bringing into vogue their heathen train, 

And Jupiter bids fair to rule again ; 

That certain feasts are instituted now, 

Where Venus hears the lover's tender vow ; 

That all Olympus through the country roves. 

To consecrate our few remaining gi-oves. 

And Echo learns politely to repeat 

The praise of names for ages obsolete ; 

That having proved the weakness, it should ssera 

Of revelation's ineffectual beam. 

To bring the passions under sober sway. 

And give the moral springs their proper play. 

They mean to try at last what may be done. 

By stout substantial gods of wood and stone. 

And whether Roman rites may not produce 

The virtues of old Rome for English use. 

May such success attend the pious plan, 

May Mercury once more embellish man, 

Graje him again with long forgotten arts. 

Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts. 

Make him atbletic, as in days of old, 

Leam'd at the bar, in the palasstra bold. 

Divest the rougher sex of female airs, 

And teach the softer not to copy theirs : 

The change shall please, nor shall it matter augkt 

Who works the wonder, it if be but wrought. 



CONVERSATION. 147 

Tis time, however, if the case stands thus, 
For us plain folks, and all who side with us. 
To build our altar, confident and bold. 
And say, as stern Elijah said of old, 
The strife now stands upon a fair award. 
If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord : 
If he be silent, faith is all a whim, 
Then Baal is the God, and worship him. 
Digression is so much in modern use, 
Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse. 
Some never seem so wide of their intent, 
As when returning to the theme they meant; 
As mendicants, whose business is to roam. 
Make every parish but their own their home. 
Though such continual zig-zags in a book, 
Such drunken reelings have an awkward look. 
And I had rather creep to what is true, 
Than rove and stagger with no mark in view; 
Yet to consult a little seem'd no crime, 
The freakish humour of the present time ; 
But now to gather up what seems dispersed. 
And touch the subject I design'd at first. 
May prove, though much beside the rules of art 
Best for the public, and my wisest part. 
And first, let no man charge me, that I mean 
To clothe in sable every social scene. 
And give good company a face severe. 
As if they met around a father's bier ; 
For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent, 
And laughter all their work, is life misspent. 
Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply. 
Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 
To find the medium asks some share of wit. 
And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. 
But though life's valley be a vale of tears, 
A brighter scene beyond that vale aj>T(M;ars, 
Whose glory, with a light that never fades. 
Shoots between scatter'd rocks and opening shades. 
And, while it shews the land the soul desires, 
The language of the land she seeks inspires. 
Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure 
Of all that was absurd, profane, impure ; 



148 RETJREMETsT. 

Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech 

Pursues the course, that Truth and Nature teacl ; 

No longer labours merely to produce 

The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use 

Where'er it winds, the salutary stream. 

Sprightly and fresh, enriches every theme , 

While all the happy man possess d before, 

The gift of nature or the classic store, 

Is made subsei-vient to the grand design. 

For which Heaven fonn'd the faculty divine. 

So, should an idiot, while at large he strays, 

Find the sweet Ij-re on which an artist piays. 

With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes, 

And grins with wonder at the jar he makes • 

But let the wise and well-instructed hand 

Once take the shell beneath his just commafTid, 

In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd 

Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd, 

Till tuned at length to some immortal song, 

It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along. 



RETIREMENT. 



studiis florens ignobilis oti. 

Virg. Georg. Lib. 4. 



Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar, 

Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more. 

But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low. 

All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ; 

The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade. 

Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, 

Where all his long anxieties forgot 

Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot, 

Or recollected only to gild o'er, 

And add a smile to what was sweet before. 

He may possess the joys he thinks he sees. 

Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease, 

Improve the remnant of his wasted span. 

And having lived a trifler, die a man. 



RETIREMENT. J4i 

Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, 
Though long rebell'd ag-ainst, not yet suppress'd, 
And calls a creatui'e toi-m'd for God alone, 
■f^or Heaven's liigh purposes, and not his own, 
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, 
From what debilitates and what inflames. 
From cities humming with a restless crowd 
Sordid as active, ignorant as loud. 
Whose highest praise is that they live in vain. 
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, 
Where works of man are cluster'd close arou!!, 
And works of God are hardly to be found, 
To regions where, in spite of sin and woe, 
Traces of Eden are still seen below, 
Where mountain, river, forest, field and grovt;, 
Remind him of his Maker's power and love. 
*Tis well, if look'd for at so late a day. 
In the last scene of such a senseless play, 
True wisdom will attend his feeble call, 
And grace his action ere the curtain fall. 
Souls, that have long despised their heavenly <).. 
Their wishes all impregnated with Earth, 
For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless c;;; c 
In catching smoke and feeding upon air, 
Conversant only with the ways of men. 
Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. 
Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart, 
Their ftbres penetrate its tenderest part. 
And draining its nutritious powers to feed 
Their noxious growth, starve every better seed. 

Happy, if full of days — but happier far, 
If, ere we yet diucem life's evening star. 
Sick of the service of a world, that feeds 
Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds. 
We can escape from Custom's idiot sway. 
To serve the Sovereign we were bom t'obey. 
Tlien sweet to muse upon his skill display'd 
(Infinite skill) in all that he has made ! 
To trace in Nature's most minute design 
The signature and stamp of power divine. 
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease, 
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees. 



150 RETIREMENT. 

The shapely limb and lubricated joint 

Within the small dimensions of a point, 

Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, 

His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, 

The invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd^ 

To whom an atom is an ample field ; 

To wonder at a thousand insect forma, 

These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms, 

New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share, 

Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, 

Whose shape would make them.had they bulk and size 

More hideous foes than fancy can devise ; 

With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adom'd. 

The mighty mj-riads, now securely scorn'd. 

Would mock the majesty of man's high birth. 

Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth. 

Then with a glanee of fancy to survey. 

Far as the faculty can stretch away. 

Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command. 

From urns that never fail, through every land ; 

These like a deluge with impetuous force. 

Those winding modestly a silent course ; 

The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; 

Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails ; 

The sun, a world whence other worlds drink night; 

The crescent moon, the diadem of night ; 

Stars countless, each in his appointed place, 

Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space — 

At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, 

And with a rapture like his own exclaim. 

These are thy glorious works, thou Source of good, 

How dimly seen, how faintly understood! 

Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care. 

This universal frame, thus wondrous fair ; 

Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought. 

Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought. 

Absorb'd in that immensity I see, 

I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee ; 

Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day. 

Thy words more clearly than thy works, display. 

That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, 

I may resemble thee, and call thee mine. 



RETIREMENT. 151 

O bless'd proficiency ! surpassing all 
That men erroneously their glory call. 
The recompense that arts or arms can yield. 
The bar, the senate, or the tented field, 
Compared with this sublimest life below, 
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to shew ? 
Thus studied, used, and consecrated thus. 
On earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us : 
Not as the plaything of a fro ward child, 
Fretful, unless diverted and beguiled. 
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires 
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires. 
But as a scale, by which the soul ascends 
From mighty means to more important ends, 
Securely, though by steps but rarely trod. 
Mounts from inferior beings up to God, 
A.nd sees, by no fallacious light or dim. 
Earth made for man, and man himself for him. 

Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce, 
A superstitious and monastic course ; 
Truth is not local, God alike pervades 
A.nd fills the world of traffic and the shades. 
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, 
Or scom'd where business never intervenes. 
But 'tis not easy with a mind like ours. 
Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers, 
And in a world where, other ills apart. 
The roving eye misleads the careless heart. 
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray 
Wherever freakish fancy points the way ; 
To bid the pleadings of self-love be still. 
Resign our own and seek our Maker's will ; 
To spread the page of Scripture, and compare 
Our conduct with the laws engraven there ; 
To measure all that passes in the breast, 
Faithfully, fskirly, by that sacred test ; 
To dive into the sacred deeps within, 
To spare no passion and no favourite sin. 
And search the themes, important above all, 
Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall. 
But leisure, silence, and a mind released 
From anxious thoughts how wealth uay be increased 



152 RETIREMJINT. 

How to secure in some propitious hour, 
The point of interest, or the post of power, 
A soul serene, and equally retired 
From objects too much dreaded or desired. 
Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute. 
At least are friendly to the great pursiut. 

Opening the map of God's extensive plan, 
^Ve find a little isle, this life of man ; 
Eternity's unkno^vn expanse appears 
Circling around and limiting his years. 
The busy race examine and explore 
Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore. 
With care colleo* what in their eyes excels, 
Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and sheila; 
Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, 
And happi-est he that groans beneath his weight. 
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play. 
And every hour sweeps multitudes away ; 
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep. 
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. 
A few forsake the throng : with lifted eyes 
Ask wealth of Heaven and gain a real prize, 
Tinith, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, 
Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love-, 
Scom'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait 
A kind release from their imperfect state. 
And unregretted are soon snatch 'd away 
From scenes of sorrow into glorious day 

Nor these alone prefer a life recluse, 
Who seek retirement for its proper use ; 
The love of change, that lives in every breast. 
Genius and temper, and desire of rest. 
Discordant motives in one centre meet. 
And each inclines its votary to retreat. 
Some minds by nature are averse to noise 
And hate the tumult half the world enjoys. 
The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize. 
That courts display before ambitious eyes ; 
The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem 
Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. 
To them the deep recess of dusky groves 
Or forest, where the deer securely roves 



RETIREMENT. 153 

The fall of waters, and the song of birds. 
And hills that echo to the distant herds, 
Are luxuries excelling all the glare 
The world can boast, and her chief favourite's share. 
With eager step, and carelessly array d. 
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade. 
From all he sees he catches new delight, 
Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight ; 
The rising- or the setting orb of day. 
The clouds that flit, or slowly float away. 
Nature in all the various shapes she wears, 
Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs. 
The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, 
Her summer heats, her fniits, and her perfumes, 
All, all alike transport the glowing bard. 
Success in rhjTne his glory and reward. 
O Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose 
His bright perfections, at whose word they rose, 
Next to that Power, who form'd thee and sustains, 
Be thou the greater inspirer of my strains. 
StilJ, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand 
Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand. 
That 1 may catch a fire but rarely known. 
Give useful light, though I should miss reno-wn, 
And, poring on thy page, whose every line 
Bears proof of an intelligence divine. 
May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays. 
That builds its glory on its Maker's praise- 
Woe to the man whose wit disclaims its use, 
Glittering in vain, or only to seduce, 
Who studies nature with a wanton eye 
Admires the work, but slips the lesson by; 
His hours of leisure and recess employs 
In drawing pictures of forbidden joys, 
Retires to blazon his own worthless name. 
Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. 

The lover, too, shuns business and alarms. 
Tender idolater of absent charms. 
Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers. 
That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs ; 
'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time. 
And every thought that wanders is a crime. 



154 RETIREMENT. 

In sighs he worships his supremely fair. 

And weeps a sad libation in despair ; 

Adores a creature, andj devout in vain, 

Wins in return an answer of disdain. 

As woodbine weds the plant within her reach. 

Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech. 

In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays 

Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays. 

But does a mischief while she lends a grace. 

Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace ; 

So love, that clings around the noblest minds. 

Forbids the advancement of the soul he binds ; 

The suitor's air indeed he soon improves. 

And forms it to the taste of her he lovea^ 

Teaches his eyes a language, and no less 

Refines his speech, and fashions his address ; 

But farewell promises of happier fruits. 

Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits ; 

Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break 

Hia only bliss is sorrow for her sake ; 

Who will may pant for glory and excel, 

Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell ! 

Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name 

May least offend against so pure a flame, 

Though sage advice of friends the most sincere 

Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear. 

And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild, 

Can least brook management, however mild. 

Yet let a poet (poetry disarms 

The fiercest animals with magic charms) 

Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood. 

And woo and win thee to thy proper good. 

Pastoral images and still retreats. 

Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, 

Sweet birds in concert with harmonious stream 

Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day-dreams. 

Are all enchantments in a case like thine, 

Conspire against thy peace with one design. 

Soothe thee to make thee bxit a surer prey. 

And feed the fire that wastes thy power away. 

Up — God has form'd thee with a wiser view. 

Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ; 



RETIREMENT. I55 

Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first 
Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. 
Woman indeed, a gift he would bestow 
When he design'd a Paradise below. 
The richest earthly boon his hands afford, 
Deserves to be beloved, but not adored. 
Post away swiftly to more active scenes. 
Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans. 
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part. 
No longer give an image all thine heart; 
Its empire is not her's, nor is it thine, 
'Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. 

Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill 
Attempts no task, it cannot well fulfil 
Gives melancholy up to Nature's care 
And sends the patient into purer air. 
Look, where he comes — in this embower'd alcove 
Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move : 
Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, 
Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below. 
Interpret to the marking eye distress. 
Such as its symptoms can alone express. 
That tongue is silent now ; that silent tongue 
Could argue once, could jest or join the song, 
Could give advice, could censure or commend 
Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. 
Renounced alike its office and its sport, 
Its brisker and its graver strains fall short ; 
Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 
And like a summer brook are pass'd away. 
This is a sight for Pity to peruse. 
Till she resemble faintly what she views. 
Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain. 
Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain. 
This, of all maladies that man infest. 
Claims most compassion, and receives the least: 
Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod 
And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God ; 
And such emollients as his friends could spare. 
Friends such as his for modem Jobs prepare. 
Bless'd, rattier cursed, with hearts that never feel, 
Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, 



156 RETIREMENT. !l 

"Vith mouths made only to g:iin wide and eat, j i 

And minds that deem derided pain a treat, ' j 

With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire^ ij 

And -wit that puppet-prompters might inspire, ■, 

Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke j 

On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke. ' j 

But with a soul, that ever felt the sting ,| 

Of soiTow, soiTow is a sacred thing : j 

Not to molest, or irritate, or raise ij 

A laugh at his expense, is slender praise ; ! 

He, that has not usurp'd the name of man, l 

Does all, and deems too little, all he can, ; 

To assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part, ij 

And staunch the bleedings of a broken heart. \ 

'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, \ j 

Forgei'y of fancy, and a dream of woes ; | j 

Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, j; 

Each yielding harmony disposed aright ; : j 

The screws reversed (a tass. which, if he please, |! 

God in a moment executes with ease), \\ 

Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, 1 1 
Lost, till he tune them, aU their power and use. 
Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair 
As ever recompensed the peasant's care, 
Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, 

Nor view of waters turning busy mills, , | 

Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds, I 

Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds, i 

Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves. ; , 

And waft it to the mourner as he roves, ! 1 

Can call up life into his faded eye, j | 

That passes all he sees unheeded by ; ! I 

No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, ji 

No cure for such, till God who makes them, heals. i 

And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill, ij 

That yields not to the touch of human skill, : I 
Improve the kind occasion, understand 

A Father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand. ] 

To thee the dayspring, and the blaze of noon, j 

The purple evening and resplendent moon, i \ 

The stars, that sprinkled o'er the vault of night, i \ 

Seem drops descending in a shower of light, ; 



RETIREMENT. 157 

Shine not, or undesired and hated shine, 

Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine ; 

Yet seek, him, in his favour life is found. 

All bliss beside a shadow or a sound : 

llien heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth 

Shall seem to start into a second birth ; 

Nature, assuming a more lovely face. 

Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, 

Shall be despised and overlook'd no more. 

Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, 

Impart to things inanimate a voice, 

And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ; 

The sound shall run along the winding vales, 

And Ihou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. 

Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaims, 
Sick of a thousand disappointed aims). 
My patrimonial treasure and my pride. 
Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide. 
Receive me, languishing for that repose 
The servant of the public never knows. 
Yb saw me once (ah, those regretted days. 
When boyish innocence was all my praise I) 
Hour after hour delightfidly allot 
To studies then familiar, since forgot. 
And cultivate a taste for ancient song. 
Catching its ardour as I mused along ; 
Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send 
What once I valued and could boast, a friend ; 
Were witnesses how cordially I press'd 
His undissembling viitue to my breast ? 
Receive me now, not tuicorrupt as then. 
Nor guiltless of coiTuptiug other men. 
But versed in arts, that while they seem to stay 
A falling empire, hasten its decay. 
To the fair haven of my native home. 
The wreck of what 1 was, fatigued I come ; 
For once I can approve the patriot's voice. 
And make the course he recommends my choice 
We meet at last in one sincere desire. 
His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. 
'Tis done — he steps into the welcome chaise, 
Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays, 



158 RETIREMENT. 

That whirl away from business and debate 

The disencumber'd Atlas of the state. 

Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn 

First shakes the glittering drops from every tliuin, 

Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush 

Sits linking cheiTy-stones, or platting i-ush, 

How fair is freedom — he was always free : 

To carve his rustic name upon a tree, 

To snare the mole, or with ill-fashion'd hook 

To draw the incautious minnow from the bmo • , 

Are life's prime pleasure's in his simple view, 

His flock the chief concern he ever knew 

She shines but little in his heedless eyes, 

The good we never miss we rarely prize : 

But ask the noble drudge in state affairs. 

Escaped from ofiice and its constant cares. 

What charms he sees in freedom's smile expressM, 

In freedom lost so long, now repossess'd ; 

The tongue, whose strains were cogent as commamls 

Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, 

Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause. 

Or plead its silence as its best applause. 

He knows indeed that whether dress'd or rude. 

Wild without art, or artfully subdued. 

Nature in every form inspires delight, 

But never mark'd her with so just a sight. 

Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store. 

With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er, 

Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream, that 

Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads, [spreads 

Downs, that almost escape the inquiring eye, 

That melt and fade into the distant sky. 

Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd. 

Seem all created since he travell'd last. 

Master of all the enjoyments he design'd. 

No rough annoyance rankling in his mind. 

What early philosophic hours he keeps. 

How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps ! 

Not sounder he, that on the mainmast head. 

While morning kindles with a windy red. 

Begins a long look-out for distant land, 

N)r quits till evening-wa/ ch his giddy stand ; 



RETIREMENT ISO 

Fhen swift descending with a seaman's haste. 

Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. 

He chooses company, but not the 'squire's. 

Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires ; 

Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come. 

Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home ; 

Nor can he much affect the neighbouring peer. 

Whose toe of emulation treads too near ; 

But wisely seeks a more convenient friend. 

With whom dismissing forms, he may unbend ; 

A man, whom marks of condescending grace 

Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place ; 

Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws, 

Speaks with reserve, aud listens with applause ; 

Some plain mechanic, who without pretence 

To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence ; 

On whom^e rests well-pleased his weary powei'S, 

And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. 

The tide of life, swift always in its course, 

May run in cities with a brisker force, 

But no where with a current so serene. 

Or half so clear, as in the rural scene. 

Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss. 

What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss I 

Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, 

But short the date of all we gather here ; 

No happiness is felt, except the true. 

That does not charm the more for being new. 

This observation, as it chanced, not made, 

Or, if the thought occun-'d, not duly weigh'd 

He sighs — for after all, by slow degrees, 

The spot he loved has lost the power to please ; 

To cross his ambling pony day by day, 

Seems at the best but dreaming life away; 

The prospect, such as might enchant despair 

He views it not, or sees no beauty there ; 

With aching heart, and discontented looks, 

Returns at noon to billiards or to books. 

But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, 

A secret thirst of his renounced employs. 

He chides the tardiness of every post. 

Pants to be told of battles won or lost. 



160 RETIREMENT. 

Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, 
'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state, 
Flies to the levee, and received with grace, 
Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. 

Suburban villas, highway-side retreats. 
That dread the encroachment of our growing strei ts, 
Tight boxes, neatly sash'd, and in a blaze 
With all a July sun's collected rays, 
Delight the citizen, who gasping there. 
Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. 
O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought, 
That could afford retirement, or could not ? 
*Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, 
The second milestone fronts the garden gate : 
A step if fair, and, if a shower approach. 
You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. 
There, prison'd in a parlour snug and small, 
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall. 
The man of business and his friends compress'd, 
Forget their labours, and yet find no rest; 
But still 'tis rural — trees are to be seen 
From every window, and the fields are green ; 
Ducks paddle in the pond before the door, 
And what could a remoter scene shew more 1 
A sense of elegance we rarely find 
The portion of a mean or vulgar mind, 
And ignorance of better things makes man, 
Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can ; 
And he, that deems his leisure well bestow'd 
In contemplation of a turnpike road, 
Is occupied as well, employs his hours 
As \visely, and as much improves his powers. 
As he that slumbers in pavilions gi-aced 
With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste- 
Yet hence, alas! insolvencies ; and hence 
The unpitied victim of ill-judged expense, 
From all his wearisome engagements freed. 
Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. 

Your prudent grandmammas, ye modern belles. 
Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge -wells. 
When health required it would consent to roam, 
Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home. 



RETIREMENT. Ifil 

But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife. 

Ingenious to diversify dull life, 

In coaches, chaises, caravans, and noys, 

Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys ; 

And all. impatient of dry land, agree 

With one consent to rush into the sea. — • 

Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad. 

Much of the power and majesty of God. 

He swathes about the swelling- of the deep, 

That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep ; 

Vast as it is, it answers as it flows 

The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; 

Curling and whitening over all the waste. 

The rising- waves obey the increasing blast. 

Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars. 

Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores. 

Till He, that rides the whirlwind, checks the lein. 

Then all the world of waters sleeps again. — 

Nereids and Dryads, as the fashion leads, 

Now in the floods, now panting in the meads. 

Votaries of pleasure still, where'er she dwells 

Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, 

O grant a poet leave to recommend 

(A poet fond of nature, and your friend; 

Her slighted works, to your admiring view ; 

Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you. 

Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride 

With some unmeaning coxcomb at youi- side. 

Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, 

To waste unheard the music of his strains. 

And, deaf to, all the impertinence of tongue. 

That, while it courts, affronts, and does you wrong-, 

Mark well the finish'd plan without a fault, 

The seas globose and huge, the o'er-arching vault. 

Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd 

In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy'd. 

Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise 

Of God, benelicent in all his ways ; 

Graced with such wisdom, how would beauty shine I 

Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. 

Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid. 
Force many a shining youth into the shade. 



162 RETIREMENT. 

Not to redeem his time, but his estate, 

And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate. 

There, hid in loath'd obscurity, removed 

From pleasures left, but never more beloved. 

He just endures, and with a sickly spleen 

Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. 

Natiu'e indeed looks prettily in rhyme ; 

Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime : 

The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strons; 

Are musical enough in Thomson's song ; 

And Cobham's gi-oves, and Windsor's green retreats, 

When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets ; 

He likes the country, but in truth must own 

Most likes it, when he studies it in to^vn. 

Poor Jack — no matter who — for when I bl.unr'. 
I pity, and must therefore sink the name, 
Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the cours<'. 
And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. 
The estate his sires had own'd in ancient years, 
Was quickly distanced, match'd against a peer's 
Jack vanish'd, was regretted and forgot; 
'Tis wild good-nature's never-failing lot. 
At length, when all had long supposed him dead, 
By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead. 
My lord, alighting at his usual place. 
The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. 
Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise 
He might escape the most observing eyes. 
And whistling, as if unconcem'd and gay. 
Curried his nag, and look'd another way. 
Convinced at last, upon a nearer view, 
*Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew, 
O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and jcy. 
He press'd him much to quit his base employ ; 
His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand, 
Influence and power, were all at his command : 
Peers are not always gen'rous as well-bred. 
But Granby was, meant truly what he said. 
Jackbow'd, and was obliged —confess'c 'twas strangej 
That so retired he should not wish a change, 
But knew no medium between guzzling beer, 
And hia old atint— three thousand pounds a-year. 



RETIREMENT. 168 

Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe ; 
Some seeking happiness not found below ; 
Some to comply -with humour, and a mind 
To social scenes by nature disinclined ; 
Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust; 
Some self-impoverish'd, and because they must : 
But few, that court Retirement, are aware 
Of half the toils they roust encounter there. 

Lucrative offices are seldom lost 
For want of powers proportion'd to the post; 
Give e'en a dunce the employment he desires. 
And he soon finds the talents it requires ; 
A business with an income at its heels 
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. 
But in his arduous enterprise to close 
His active years with indolent repose. 
He finds the labours of that state exceed 
His utmost faculties, severe indeed. 
'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, 
But not to manage leisure with a grace ; 
Absence of occupation is not rest, 
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd. 
The veteran steed, excused his task at length. 
In kind compassion of his failing strength. 
And turn'd into the park or mead to graze, 
Exempt from future service all his days. 
There feels a pleasure perfect in its. kind. 
Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind : 
But when his lord would quit the busy road, 
To taste a joy like that he had bestow'd, 
He proves, less happy than his favour'd brute, 
A life of ease a difficult pursuit. 
Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 
As natural as when asleep to dream ; 
But reveries Cfor human minds will act) 
Specious in show, impossible in fact. 
Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought. 
Attain not to the dignity of thought : 
Nor yet the swarms, that occupy the brain, 
Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure 
Nor such as useless conversation breeds. 
Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. 



164 RETIREMENT 

Whence, and what are we ? to what end ordain'd ! 

Wliat means the drama by the world sustain'd i 

Business or \ain amusement, care or mirth, 

Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. 

Is duty a mere sport or an employ? 

Life an intrusted talent, or a toy 1 

Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture, say, 

Cause to provide for a great future day. 

When, earth's assign'd duration at an end, 

Man shall be summon 'd and the dead attend? 

The ti-umpet — will it sound, the curtain rise, 

Aiid shew the august tribunal of the skies ; 

Where no prevarication shall avail, 

Where eloquence and artifice shall fail. 

The pride of arrogant distinctions fall. 

And conscience and our condvict judge us all ? 

Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil 

To learned cares, or philosophic toil. 

Though 1 revere your honourable names. 

Your useful labours and important aims. 

And hold the world indebted to your aid, 

Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made , 

Yet let me stand excused if I esteem 

A mind employ'd on so sublime a theme, 

Pusliing her bold inquiry to the date 

And outline of the present transient state, 

And, after poising her adventurous wings. 

Settling at last upon eternal things. 

Far more intelligent and better taught. 

The strenuous use of profitable thought. 

Than ye, when happiest, and enlighten'd most. 

And highest in renown, can justly boast. 

A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear 
The weight of subjects worthiest of her care, 
Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires. 
Must change her nature or in vain retires. 
An idler is a watch, that wants both hands 
As useless if it goes, as when it stands. 
Books, therefore, not the scandal of the shelves. 
In which lewd sensualists print out themselves i 
Nor those, in which the stage gives vice a blow- 
With what success let modem manners shew : 



RETIREMENT. 165 

Nor his, who for the bane of thousands born, 

Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn. 

Skilful alike to seem devout and just. 

And stab religion with a sly side-thrust ; 

Nor those of leam'd philologists, who clias.- 

A panting syllable through time and space, 

Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, 

To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ! 

But such as Learaing without false pretence, 

The friend of Truth, the associate of sound SeuMO, 

And such as, in the zeal of good design. 

Strong judg-ment labouring in the Scripture mine, 

All such as manly and great souls produce, 

Worthy to live, and of eternal use ; 

Behold in these what leisure hours demaml, 

Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. 

Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, 

And, while she polishes, perverts the taste , 

Habits of close attention, thinking heads, 

Become more rare as dissipation spreads. 

Till authors hear at length one general cry,— 

Tickle and entertain us, or we die. 

The loud demand, from year to year the same, 

Beggars Invention, and makes Fancy lame. 

Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune. 

Calls for the kind assistance of a tune ; 

And novels (witness every month's review) 

Belie their name, and offer nothing new. 

The mind, relaxing into needful sport. 

Should turn to writers of an abler sort, 

Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, 

Give truth a hustre, and make wisdom smile. 

Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done. 

Too rigid in my view, that name to one ; 

Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast 

Will stand advanced a step above the rest : 

Flowers by that name promiscuously we call. 

But one, the rose, the regent of them all) — 

Friends, not adopted with a school-boy's haste. 

But chosen with a nice discerning taste. 

Well-born, well-disciplined, who, placed apart 

Fffini vulgar minds, have honour much at h.:;i."t 



166 HETIREMENI. 

And though the world may think the ingredients odd, 

The love of virtue, and the fear of God ! 

Such friends prevent what else would soon succeedi 

A temper rustic as the life we lead. 

And keep the polish of the manners clean 

As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene ; 

For solitude, however some may rave, 

Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, 

A sepulchre, in which the living lie, 

Where all good qualities grow sick and die. 

I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd — 

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude ! 

But grant me still a friend in my retreat. 

Whom I may whisper — solitude is sweet. 

Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside, 

That appetite can ask, or wealth provide. 

Can save us always from a tedious day. 

Or shine the dulness of still life away : 

Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd. 

Or sought with energy, must fill the void. 

O sacred art, to which alone life owes 

Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close, 

Scom'd in a world, indebted to that scorn 

For evils daily felt and hardly borne, 

Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands 

Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands. 

And, while Experience cautions us in vain, 

Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. 

Despondence, self-deserted in her grief. 

Lost by abandoning her oibti relief, 

Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent, 

That scorns afflictions mercifully meant. 

Those humours tart as wine upon the fret. 

Which idleness and weariness beget ; 

These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the 

breast. 
Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest, 
Divine communion chases as the day 
Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of pro • 
See Judah's promised king bereft of all, 
Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, 



REriRE?4ENT. 167 

To distant cares the lonely wanderer flies. 

To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. 

Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice. 

Hear him o'erwhelm'd with sorrow, yet rejoice ; 

No womanish or wailing grief has part. 

No, not a moment, in his royal heart ; 

'Tis manly music such as martyrs make, 

Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake ; 

His soul exults, hope animates his lays. 

The sense of mercy kindles into praise 

And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar. 

Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before . 

'Tis love like his, that can alone defeat 

The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. 

Religion does not censure or exclude 

Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued ; 

To study culture, and with artful toil 

To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil 

To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands 

The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands ; 

To cherish virtue in an humble state. 

And share the joys your bounty may ci'eate ; 

To mark the matcliless workings of the power 

That shuts within its seed the future flower, 

Bids these in excellence of form excel, 

In colour these, and those delight the smell, 

Sends Natui-e forth the daughter of the skies. 

To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes ; 

To teaeh the canvass innocent deceit. 

Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet— 

These, these are arts pursued without a crime. 

That leave no stain upon the wing of Time. 

Me poetry (or rather notes that aim 
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame) 
Employs, shut out from more important views. 
Fast by the banks of the slow winding Ouse : 
Content if thus sequester'd I may raise 
A monitor's though not a poet's praise, 
And while I ter ch an art too little known. 
To close life wisely, may not waste my own. 



168 

THE YEARLY DISTRESS ; 

OR, TITHING TIME AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. 

Venes arddressed to a country clergyman, complainings of the dis- 
■ffreeablfciiess of the day annually appointed for receiung the 
dues at the parsonage. 

Come, ponder well, for 'tis no jest. 

To laugh it would be wrong, 
The troubles of a worthy priest. 

The burden of my song. 

The priest he merry is and blithe. 

Three quarters of the year. 
But oh ! it cuts him like a scythe. 

When tithing time draws near. 

He then is full of frights and fears. 

As one at point to die. 
And long before the day appea^^ 

He heaves up many a sigh. 

For then the farmers come jog, jog. 

Along the miry road. 
Each heart as heavy as a log, 

To make their payments good. 

In sooth, the sorrow of such days 

Is not to be express'd, 
When he that takes, and he that pays. 

Are both alike distress'd. 

Now all unwelcome at his gates. 

The clumsy swains alight. 
With rueful faces and bald pates — 

He trembles at the sight. 

And well he may, for well he knows 

Each bumpkin of the clan. 
Instead of paying what he owes. 

Will cheat him if he can. 

So in they come — each makes his leg. 

And flings his head before, 
And looks as if he came to beg. 

And not to quit a score. 



THE YEARLY DISTRESS. 100 

'And bow does miss and madam do 

The little boy and all V 
•All tight and well. And how do you, ' 

Good Mr. Wliat-d'ye call V 

The dinner comes, and down they sit: 

Were e'er such hungry folk? 
There's little talking, and no Avit ; 

It is no time to joke. 

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve. 

One spits upon the floor. 
Yet, not to give offence or grieve. 

Holds up the cloth before. 

The punch goes round, and they are dull 

And lumpish still as ever ; 
Like barrels with their bellies full. 

They only weigh the heavier. 

At length the busy time begins : 
• Come, neighbours, we must wag — ' 

The money chinks, down drop their china. 
Each lugging out his bag. 

One talks of mildew and of frost 

And one of storms of hail, 
And one of pigs that he has lost, 

By maggots at the tail. 

Quoth one, * A rarer man than you 

In pixlpit none shall hear : 
But yet, methinks, to tell you true. 

You sell it plaguy dear.' 

O why are farmers made so coarse, « 

Or clergy made so fine 1 
A kick, that scarce would move a hon^. 

May kill a sound divine. 

Then let the boobies stay at home ; 

'Twould cost him, I dare say. 
Less trouble taking twice the sum, 

"Without the clowns that pay. 
H 



170 
SONNET, 

ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ. 

On his eraphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of 
Warren Hastings, Esq., in the House of Lords. 

(JowpER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard 

Legends prolix delivers in the ears 

(Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, 
Let verse at length yield thee thy jiist reward. 

7'hou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, 
Expending late on all that length of plea 
Thy generous powers ; but silence honour'd thee. 

Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. 

fhou art not voice alone, but hast beside 
Both heart and head : and couldst with music sweet 
Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, 
Like thy renown 'd forefathers, far and wide 
Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance meet 
Of others' speech, but magic of thy own. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO DR DARWIN. 

Author of ' The Botanic Garden.' 

Two Poet** (poets, by report, 

Not oft 80 well agree) 
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court ! 

Conspire to honour Thoe. 
They best can judge a poet's worth 

Who oft themselves have known 
The jjangs of a poetic birth 

By labours of their own. 

We therefore, plea6«d, extol thy song, 

Though various, yet complete. 
Rich in embellishment, as strong 

And learned as 'tis sweet. 

Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied 
th«»e lines. 



FEATHEH-HAN(;iNGS. 171 

No envy mingles with our praise. 

Though, could our hearts repine 
At any poet's happier lays, 

They woidd — they must at thine. 

But we, in mutual bondage knit 

Of friendship's closest tie, 
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit 

With an unjaundiced eye i 

And deem the hard, whoe'er he be, 

And howsoever known. 
Who would not twine a wreath for Thee, 

Unworthy of his own. 



ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-HANGINGS 

Thk birds put off their every hue. 
To dress a room for Montagu. 

The peacock sends his heavenly dyes. 
His rainbows and his starry eyes ; 
The pheasant plumes, which round infold 
His mantling neck with downy gold ; 
The cock his arch'd tail's azure show ; 
And, river blanch'd, the swan his snow 
All tribes beside of Indian name. 
That glossy shine, or vivid flame. 
Where risesi and where sets the day, 
VvTiate'er they boast of rich and gay. 
Contribute to the gorgeous plan. 
Proud to advance it all they can. 
This plumage neither dashing shower. 
Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower. 
Shall drench again or discompose, 
But, screen'd from every storm that blows, 
It boasts a splendour ever new. 
Safe with protecting Montagu. 

To the same patroness resort. 
Secure of favour at her court, 
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought 
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought. 



172 VERSES BY A. SELKIRK. 

Wnich, though new-born, with vigrour move. 

Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove — 

Imagina ion scattering round 

Wild roses orer furrow d ground, 

Which Labour of his frown beguile, 

And teach Philosophy a smile — 

Wit flashing on Religion's side, 

Whose fires, to sacred truth applied, 

The gem, though luminous before, 

Obti'ude on human notice more, 

Like sunbeams on the golden height 

Of some tall temple, playing bright— 

Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books 

Dismissed with grave, not haughty, looks. 

Their order on his shelves exact. 

Not more harmonious or compact 

Than that, to which he keeps confined 

The various treasures of his mind — 

All these to Montagu's repair, 

Ambitious of a shelter there. 

There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, 

Their ruffled plumage calm refit 

(For stormy troubles loudest roar 

Around their flight who highest soar). 

And in her eye, and by her aid. 

Shine safe without a fear to fade. 

She thus maintains divided sway 
With yon bright regent of the day ; 
The plume and poet both, we know, 
Their lustre to his influence owe ; 
And she the works of Phoebus aiding. 
Both poet saves and plume from fading. 



VERSES, 



SllvpMed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, dnringrhis tolitar 
abode in the island of Juan Fernandez. 

I AM monarch of all I survey. 

My right there is none to dispute , 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 



VERSES BY A. SELKIRK. IJg 

solitude 1 where are the charms 
That sages have seeu in thy face? 

Better dwell iu the midst of alarms. 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone. 
Never hear the sweet music of speech,— 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts, that roam over the plain. 

My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man. 

Their tameness is shocking to me. 
Society, friendship, and love, 

Divinely bestow'd upon man, 
O, had I the wing-s of a dove. 

How soon would I taste you again! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and ti-uth. 
Might learn from the wisdom of age. 

And be cheer'd by tlie sallies of youth 
Religion ! What treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word ! 
More precioiis than silver and gold. 

Or all that this earth can aftbrd, 
But the sound of the church-going bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard. 
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell. 

Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd. 

Ye winds, that have made me your sport. 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial, endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more. 
My friends — do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me 1 
O tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 
How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight. 
The tempest itself lags behind. 

And the swift-winged arrows of light. 



IT4 ON E. THURLOW, ESQ. 

When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there * 
But, alas 1 recollection at hand 
Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea fowl is gone to her nest. 

The beast is Iciid do^vn in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest. 

And I to my cabin repair. 
Tliere's mercy in every place. 

And mercy, encouraging thought .' 
Gives even affliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot. 



ON THE PROMOTION 

OF EDW. THURLOW, ESQ. 
ro THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND. 

Round Thurlow's head in early youth 

And in his sportive days 
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth, 

And Genius shed his rays. 

See I with united wonder cried 

The experienced and the sage. 
Ambition in a boy supplied 

With all the skill of age ! 

Discernment, eloquence, and grace. 

Proclaim him bom to sway 
The balance in the higbest place, 

And bear the palm away. 

The praise bestow'd was just and wise; 

He sprang impetuous forth. 
Secure of conquest, where the prize 

Attends superior worth. 

So the best courser on the plain 

Ere yet he starts is known. 
And does but at the goal obtain 

What all had deem'd his own. 



176 

ODE TO PEACE. 

Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! 
Return, and make thy downy nest 

Once more in this sad heart ; 
Nor riches I nor power pursue. 
Nor hold forbidden joys in view ; 

We therefoi-e need not part. 

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, 
From avarice and ambition free, 

And pleasure's fatal wiles ■? 
For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare 
The sweets that I was wont to share. 

The banquet of thy smiles ? 

The great, the gay, shall they partake 
The heaven, that thou alone canst make! 

And wilt thou quit the stream 
That murmurs through the dewy mead. 
The grove and the sequester'd shed. 

To he a guest with them ? 

For thee I panted, thee I prized. 
For thee I gladly sacrificed 

Whate'er I loved before ; 
And shall I see thee start away. 
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say — 

Farewell I we meet no more 1 



HUMAN FRAILTY. 



Wbak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-day. 
Woven with pain into his plan, 

To-morrow rends away. 

The bow well bent, and smart the spring. 

Vice seems already slain : 
But Passion rudely snaps the string. 

And it revives again 



176 THE MODERN PATRIOT. 

Some foe to hi^ upright intent 

Finds out Ui» weaker part; 
Virtue en^-^a^es his assent. 

But Pleasure wins his heart. 

'Tis here the fol]y of the wise 
Through all his heart we view ; 

And, while hi; tongue the charge deniea. 
His consoienoe owns it time. 

Bound on a vof agre of awful length 

And dangers little known, 
A stranger to ."uperior strengtVi, 

Man vainly trusts his own. 

But oars alone can ne'er prevail, 

To reach the distant coast ; 
The breath of heaven must swell the sail. 

Or all the toil is lost. 



THE MODERN PATRIOT. 

Rebellion is my theme all day ; 

I only wish 'twould come 
(As who knows but perhaps it may !) 

A little nearer home. 

Yon roaring boys who rave and fight 
On t'other side th' Atlantic, 

I always held them in the right, 
But most so when most frantic. 

When lawless mobs insult the court. 
That man shall be my toast. 

If breaking windows be the sport. 
Who bravely breaks the most. 

But O I for him my fancy culls 
The choicest flowers she bears, 

Who constitutionally pulls 
Your house about yor.r ear« 



REPOllT OF A LAW CASE. 177 

Such civil broils are my delight. 

Though some folks can't endure them. 
Who say the mob are mad outright. 

And that a rope must cure them. 

A rope J I wish we patriots had 
Such strings for all who need 'em — 

What ! hang a man for going mad t 
Then farewell British freedom I 



ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTB 
RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. 

Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot 
To na»uies ignoble, born to be forgot I 
In vain, recorded in historic page. 
They court the notice of a future age : 
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land 
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand 
Lethaean gulfs receive them as they fall. 
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all 

So when a child, as playful children use, 
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news. 
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire — 
There goes my lady, and there goes the 'squire. 
There goes the parson, oh, illustrious spark ! 
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk ! 



REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND 
IN ANY OF THE BOOKS. 

Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose. 
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong 

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows. 
To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 

So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause 
With a gjeat deal of skill, and a wig full of leamiiifp; 

While chief-baron Ear sat to balance the laws. 
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning, 
H 2 



178 LORD MANSFIELD'S LlBRARy. 
In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear. 

And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, 
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear. 

Which amounts to possession time out of mind. 

Then holding the spectacles up to the court — 

Your lordship obsei-ves they are made with a strad- 

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short, [die, 
Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose 

'Tis a case that has happen'd, and -may be again) 
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
Pray who would, or who could,wear spectacles then ? 

On the whole it appears, and my argument shews, 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn. 

That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, 
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. 

Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how). 

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : 
But what were his arguments few people kno\v. 

For the court did not think they were equally wise. 
So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone. 

Decisive and clear, without one if or but — 
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on. 

By daylight or candlelight — Eyes should be shut I 



ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD S LIBRARY, 
TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB, IN THE 
MONTH OF JUNE, 1780. 

So then — the Vandals of our isle. 

Sworn foes to sense and law, 
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile. 

Than ever Romans saw I 
And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift, 

And many a treasure more, 
The weU-judged purchase and the gift 

That graced his letter'd store. 



HYPOCRISY DETECTED. 179 

Their pages mangled, biimt, and torn, 

llie loss was his alone ^ 
But ages yet to come shall mourn 

The burning of his own. 



ON THE SAME. 

Whkn -wit and genius meet their doom 

In all devouring flame, 
They tell us of the fate of Rome 

And bid us fear the same. 

O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept, 

They felt the rude alarm. 
Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept 

His sacred head from harm. 

There Memory, like the bee that's fed 

From Flora's balmy store. 
The quintessence of all he read 

Had treasured up before. 

The lawless herd, with fury blind. 

Have done him ciniel wrong ; 
The flowers are gone — but still we find 

The honey on his tongue. 



THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED J 
OR HYPOCRISY DETECTED.* 

Thds says the prophet of the Turk, 
Good Mussulman abstain from pork 
There is a part in every swine 
No friend nor follower of mine 
May taste, whate'er his inclination, 
On pain of excommunication. 

Such Mahomet's mysterious charge, 
Ajid thus he left the point at large. 

♦ It may be proper to inform the reader, that this pieae hM 
already appeared in print, haWn^ found ts way, though with 
•ome unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Le<>4t 
Jcwnal, without the author's pri>ity. 



180 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH 

Had he the sinful part express'd, 
They might with safety eat the rest ; 
But for one piece they thought it hard 
Prom the whole hog to be debarr'd ; 
And set their wit at work, to find 
What joint the prophet had in mind. 
Much controversy straight arose ; 
These choose the back, the belly those : 
By some 'tis confidently said 
He meant not to forbid the head; 
While others at that doctrine rail 
And piously prefer the tail. 
Thus, conscience freed from every clog-, 
Mahometans eat up the hog. 

You laugh — 'tis well — The tale applied 
May make you laugh on t other side. 
Renounce the world — the preacher cries, 
We do — a multitude replies. 
While one as innocent regards 
A »nug and friendly game at cards : 
And one, whatever you may say, 
Can see no evil in a play ; 
Some love a concert, or a race ; 
And others shooting and the chase. 
Reviled and loved, renounced and follnw'd 
Thus, l)it by bit, the world is swallow"d ; 
Each thinks his neiglibour makes too free, 
Yet likes a slice as well as he ; 
With sopliistry their sauce they sweeten, 
Till quite from tail to snoxit 'tis eaten. 



ON THE DEATH OP LADY THROCKMORTON'S 
BULLFINCH. 

Yb nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red 
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed, 

O share Maria's grief! 
Her favourite, even in his cage, 
(What will not hunger's cruel rage !) 

Assassin'd by a thief. 



LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. 181 

Where Rhenus strays his vines among, 
The egg was laid from which he sprung; 

And, though by nature mute. 
Or only with a whistle bless'd. 
Well taught, he all the sounds expresa'd 

Of flageolet or flute. 

The honours of his ebon poll 

Were brighter than the sleekest mole ; 

His bosom of the hue 
With which Aurora decks the skies, 
When piping winds shall soon arise. 

To sweep away the dew. 

Above, below, in all the house, 
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse. 

No cat had leave to dwell ; 
And Biilly's cage supported stood 
On props of smoothest shaven wood. 

Large built, and latticed well. 

Well-latticed — but the grate, alas ! 
Not rough with wire of steel or brass, 

For Bully's plumage' sake. 
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side. 
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried. 

The sw^ains their baskets niake. 

Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure : 
When led by instinct sharp and sure. 

Subsistence to provide, 
A beast forth sallied on the scout. 
Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd 

And badger-colour'd hide. 

He, entering at the study door. 
Its ample area 'gan t' explore ; 

And something in the wind 
Conjectured, sniffing roirnd and round. 
Better than all the books he found, 

Fooi chiefly for the mind. 

Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, 
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest; 



i THE ROSE. 

In sleep lie seem'd to view 
A rat fast clinging to the cage, 
And, screaming at the sad presage, 

Awoke, and found it true. 

For, aided hoth by ear and scent. 

Right to his mark the monster went— 
Ah, Muse ! forbear to speak 

Minute the horrors that ensued ; 

His teeth were sti-ong, the cage was wood- 
He left poor Bully's beak. 

had he made that too his prey ! 
That beak, whence issued many a lay 

Of such mellifluous tone. 
Might have repaid him well, I wot, 
For silencing so sweet a throat, 

Fast stuck within his own. 

Maria weeps — the Muses mourn — 
So when, by Bacchanalians torn, 

On Thracian Hebrus' side 
Tlie tree-enchanter, Orpheus, fell. 
His head alone remain'd to tell 

The cruel death he died. 



THE ROSE. 

The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower 

Which Mary to Anna convey'd. 
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower. 

And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 

The cup was all fiU'd, and the leaves were all wet. 

And it seem'd, to a fanciful view, 
To weep for the buds it liad left with regret 

On the flourishing bush where it grew. 

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd ; 

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! 
I snapp'd it— it fell to the groxmd. 



THE DOVES. 183 

Aad such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part 

Some act by the delicate mind, 
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 

Already to sorrow resign'd ! 

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less 

Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; 

And the tear that is wiped with a little address 
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile. 



THE DOVES. 



Reasoning at every step he treads, 

Man yet mistakes his way, 
While meaner things, whom instisiCt leadx 

Are rarely known to stray. 

One silent eve I wander'd late. 

And heard the voice of love ; 
The turtle thus address'd her mate, 

And sooth'd the listening dove : 

Our mutual bond of faith and truth 

No time shall disengage, 
Those blessings of our early youth 

Shall cheer our latest age: 

While innocence without disguise, 

And constancy sincere, 
Shall fill the circles of those eyes. 

And mine can read them there ; 

Those ills, that wait on all below. 

Shall ne'er be felt by me. 
Or gently felt, and only so, 

Aa being shared with thee. 

When lightnings flash among the tteea. 

Or kites are hovering near, 
I fear lest thee alone they seize. 

And know no other fear. 



1S4 A Fable 

'Tis then I feel myself a wife. 
And press thy wedded side, 

Resolyed a union form'd for life 
Death never shall divide. 

But oh 1 if fickle and unchaste 
(Forgive a transient thought). 

Thou could become unkind at last. 
And scorn thy present lot. 

No need of lightnings from on high. 
Or kites with cruel beak ; 

Denied the endearments of thine eye. 
This widow'd heart would break. 

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd birdj 
Soft as the passing wind ; 

And I recorded what I heard, 
A lesson for mankind. 



A FABLE. 

A Raven, while with glossy breast 
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd. 
And on her wicker work high mounted. 
Her chickens prematurely counted 
A fault philosophers might blame 
If quite exempted from the same), 
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day ; 
Twas April, as the bumpkins say. 
The legislature call'd it May. 
But suddenly a wind as high 
As ever swept a winter sky. 
Shook the young leaves about her ears, 
And fill'd her with a thousand fears. 
Lest the rude blast should snap the boxigh, 
And spread her golden hopes below. 
But just at eve the blowing weather 
And all her fears were hush'd together : 
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 
Tis over, and the brood is safe 



A COMPARISON. IK. 

(For ravens, though as birds of omen 
They teach both conj'rers and old women 
To tell us what is to befall, 
Can't prophesy themselves at all). 
The morning- came, when neighbour Hodge, 
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge. 
And destined all the treasure there 
A gift to his expecting fair, 
Climb'd like a squirrel to his prey. 
And bore the worthless prize away. 



Tis Providence alone secures. 
In every change, both mine and yours 
Safety consists not in escape 
From dangers of a frightful shape ; 
An earthquake may be bid to spare 
The man that's strangled by a hair. 
Fate steals along with silent tread. 
Found oftenest in what least we dread ! 
Frowns iu the storm with angry brow, 
But iu the sunshine strikes the blow. 



A COMPARISON. 



The lapse of time and rivers is the same, 

Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; 

The silent pace, with which they steal away. 

No wealth can bribe, nor prayers persuade to stay; 

Alike irrevocable both when past. 

And a wide ocean swallows both at last. 

Though each resemble each in every part, 

A difference strikes at length the musing heart: I' 

Streams never flow iu vain ; where streams abound 

How laughs the land wi'^h various plenty crown'dl 

But time, that should enrich the nobler mind. 

Neglected, leaves a weary was*e behind. is 

N 4 



lb.. 



ANOTHER. 

AD-DRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Sweet stream, that winds thi-ough yonder gladv 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along. 

Far from the world's gay busy throng ; 

With gentle yet prevailing force, 

Intent upon her destined course ; 

Graceful and useful all she does, 

Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes, 

Purc'bosom'd as that watery glass, 

And heaven reflected in her face. 



THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT 

TO LADY THROCKMORTON. 

Maria ! I have evei-y good 
For thee wish'd many a time 

Both sad and in a cheerful mood, 
But never yet in rhyme. 

To wish thee fairer is no need. 
More prudent or more sprightly. 

Or more ingenuous, or more freed 
From temper-flaws unsightly. 

What favour then, not yet possesa'd 

Can I for thee require, 
In wedded love already bless'd 

To thy whole heart's desire. 

None here is happy but in part : 

Poll bliss is bliss divine : 
There dwells some wish in every heart 

And doubtless one in thine. 

That wish, on some fair future day. 
Which Fate shall brightly gild 

('Tis blameless, be it what it may), 
I wish it aU fulfUl'd. 



18T 



ODE TO APOLLO. 

OJK AN INKGLASS, ALMOST DRIED IN THB *DM. 

Patron of all those luckless brains 
That, to the wrong- side leaning, 

indite much metre with much pains. 
And little or no meaning : 

Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams. 

That water all the nations, 
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams. 

In constant exiialations ; 

Why, stooping at the noon of day, 

Too covetous of drink, 
Apollo, hast thou stolen away 

A poet's drop of ink? 

Upborne into the viewless air. 

It floats a vapour now, 
Impell'd through regions dense and rare 

By all the winds that blow. 

Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies, 
Combined with millions more. 

To form an Iris in the skies, 
Though black and foiU before. 

Illustrious drop ! and happy then 

Beyond the happiest lot. 
Of all that ever pass'd my pen. 

So soon to be forgot ! 

Phoebus, if such be thy design. 

To place it in thy bow, 
Give wit, that what is left may 

With equal grace below. 



PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED 



I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,* 

If birds confabulate or no ; 

'Tis clear, that they were always able 

To hold discourse, at least in fable ; 

And e'en the child, who knows no better 

Than to interpret by the letter 

A story of a cock and bxill, 

Must have a most uncommon skull. 

It chanced then, on a winter's day, 
But warm, and bright, and calm as May 
The birds, conceiving a desig-n 
To forestall sweet St. Valentine, 
In many an orchard, copse, and grove. 
Assembled on affairs of love. 
And with much twitter and much chatter 
Began to agitate the matter. 
At length a Bullfinch, who could boast 
More years and wisdom than the most. 
Entreated, opening wide his beak, 
A moment's liberty to speak ; 
And, silence publicly enjoin'd, 
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind : 

My friends ! be cautious how ye treat 
The subject upon which we meet; 
I fear we shall have winter yet. 

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control 
With golden wir.g, and satin poll, 
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried 
What marriage means, thus pert replied: 

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she. 
Opposite in the apple tree, 
By his good will would keep us single. 
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle, 

• It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosophy, 
that all fables which ascriU; rt-ason ami Boeecli to animals shouid 
be withheld from children, as being onh vehicles of deception. 
But what child was ever deceived by tfiem, or can be, again* 
tbe evidence of his senses ? 



THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. 189 

Or (which is likelier to befall) 

Till death exterminate us all. 

I marry without more ado : 

My dear Dick Redcap, what say you 

Dick herd, and tweedling, oglingr, bridling, 
Turning-, short round, strutting, and bideling-, 
Attested, glad, his approbation 
Of an immediate coujujiation. 
Their sentiments, so well express'd, 
Intiueuccd raigiitily the rest ; 
All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. 

But though the birds were thus in haste. 
The leaves came on not quite so fast. 
And Destiny that sometimes bears 
An aspect stern on man's aflairs, 
Not altogether smiled on theirs. 
The wind, of late bi-eath'd gently forth, 
Now shifted east, and east by north; 
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, 
Could shelter them from rain or snow ; 
Stepping into their nests they paddled. 
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled 
Soon every father bird and mother 
Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other. 
Parted without the least regret, 
Except that they had ever met, 
And leam'd in future to be wiser 
Than to neglect a good adviser. 

MORAL. 

Misses! the tale that I relate 

This lesson seems to carry — 
Choose not alone a proper mate, 

But proper time to marry. 



THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY 

NO FABLE. 

The noon was shady, and soft airs 

Swept Ouse's silent tide. 
When, 'scap'd from literary cares, 

I wander'd on his side. 



190 THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. 

My spauiel, prettiest of his race, 

And high in pedigree 
(Two nymphs* adorn'd with every grace 

That spaniel found for me). 

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds. 

Now starting into sight, 
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads 

With scarce a slower flight. 

It was the time when Ouse display d 

His lilies newly blown ; 
Their beauties I intent surrey'd 

And one I msh'd my own. 

With cane extended far I sought 

To steer it close to land ; 
But still the prize, though nearly caught. 

Escaped my eager hand. 

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains 

With fix'd considerate face, 
And puzzling set his puppy brains 

To comprehend the case. 

But with a cherup clear and strong. 

Dispersing all his dream, 
I thence withdrew, and foUow'd long 

The windings of the stream. 

My ramble ended, I retum'd; 

Beau, trotting far before. 
The floating wreath again diseem'd 

And plunging left the shore. 

I saw him with that lily cropp'd 

Impatient swim to meet 
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 

The treasure at my feet. 

Charm'd with the sight, The world, I cried. 

Shall hear of this thy deed : 
My dog shall mortify the pride 

Of man's superior breed : 

* Sir Robert Gimnli^'s daughters. 



THE POET, THE OYSTER, &c. 191 

But chief myself I will enjoin, 

Awake at duty's call. 
To shew a love as prompt as thine 

To Him who gives me all. 



THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIV8 
PLANT. 

An Oyster cast upon the shore. 
Was heard, though never heard before, 
Complaining in a speech well worded — 
And worthy thus to be recorded : — 

Ah, hapless wretch ! condemn'd to dwell 
For ever in my native shell ; 
Ordain'd to move when others please, 
Not for my own content or ease ; 
But toss'd and buffeted about, 
Now in the water and now out. 
'Twere better to be born a stone. 
Of ruder shape, and feeling none 
Than with a tenderness like minOf 
And sensibilities so fine ! 
I envy that unfeeling shrub. 
Fast rooted against every rub. 
The plant he meant grew not far off. 
And felt the sneer with scorn enough ; 
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified. 
And with asperity replied. 

— When, cry the botanists, and stare 
Did plants call'd sensitive grow there 1 
No matter when — a poet's muse is 
To make them grow just where she chooeea««' 

You shapeless nothing in a dish 
You that are but almost a fish, 
I scorn your coarse insinuation. 
And have most plentiful occasion 
To wish myself the rock I view. 
Or such another dolt as you : 
For many a gTave and learned clerk. 
And many a gay unletter'd spark, 



102 THE PC EX. THE OYSTER, Ac. 

With curious touch examines me. 

If I cau feel as well as he ; 

And when I bend, retire, and shrink. 

Says — Well, 'tis more than one would think 1 

Thus life is spent (oh fie upon't !) 

In heing touch'd, and crying- — Don't I 

A poet, in his evening walk, 
O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. 
And your fine sense, he said, and yours 
Whatever evil it endures, 
Deserves not, if so soon oflfended. 
Much to be pitied or commended. 
Disputes, though short, are far too long. 
Where both alike are in the wrong ; 
Your feelings, in their full amount, 
Are all upon your own account. 

You in your grotto-work enclosed. 
Complain of being thus exposed ; 
Yet nothing feel in that rough coat. 
Save when the knife is at your throat, 
Wherever driven by wind or tide. 
Exempt from every ill beside. 

And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, 
Who reckon every touch a blemish. 
If all the plants that can be found 
Embellishing the scene around, 
Should droop and wither where they grow. 
You would not feel at all — not you. 
The noblest minds their virtue prove 
By pity, sympathy, and love : 
These, these are feelings truly fine. 
And prove their owner half divine. 

His censure reach'd them as he dealt it 
And each by shrinking shew'd he felt it. 



193 



THE SHRUBBERY. 

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION, 

Oh, happy shades — to me unbless'dl 
Friendly to peace, but not to me I 

How ill the scene that offers rest, 
And heart that cannot rest, agree I 

This glassy stream, that spreading pine. 

Those alders quivering: in the breeze, 
Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine. 

And please, if any thing could please. 

But fix'd unalterable Care 

Foregoes not what she feels within, 
Shews the same sadness every where, 

And slights the season and tlie scene. 

For all that pleased in wood or lawn, 
WhUe Peace possess'd the silent bowem. 

Her animating smile withdrawn. 
Has lost its beauties and its powers. 

The saint or moralist slioiild tread 
This moss-grown alley musing, slow; 

They seek like me the secret shade. 
But not like me to nourish woe I 

Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste 

Alike admonish not to roam ; 
These tell me of enjoyments past, 

And those of sorrows yet to come. 



THE WINTER NOSEGAY 

What Nature, alas ! has denied 
To the delicate growth of our isl^ 

Art has in a measure supplied, 

And Winter is deck'd with a smile, 
1 



194 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. 

See, Mary, what beauties I bring 

From the shelter of that sunny shed, 
Where the flowers have the charms of the springy 

Though abroad they are frozen and dead. 

Ti8 a bower of Arcadian sweets. 

Where Ilora is still in her prime, 
A fortress to which she retreats 

From the cruel assaults of the clime. 
While earth wears a mantle of snow. 

These pinks are as fresh and as gay 
As the fairest and sweetest that blow 

On the beautifvil bosom of May. 

See how they have safely survived 

The frowns of a sky so severe ; 
Such Mary's true love, that has lived 

Through many a turbulent year. 
The charms of the late blowing rose 

Seem graced with a livelier hue, 
And the winter of sorrow best shews 

The truth of a friend such as you. 



MUTUAL FORBEARANCE 

NBCSSSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE 
MARRIED STATE. 

The lady thus address'd her spouse :— 
What a mere dungeon is this house ! 
By no means large enough ; and was it, 
Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, 
Those hangings with their worn-out gracea, 
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces. 
Are such an antiqtiated scene. 
They overwhelm me with the spleen. 

Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, 
Makes answer quite beside the mark : 
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come. 
Engaged myself to be at home. 
And uhall expect him at the door, 
Pracisely when the clock strikes four 



MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. ig$ 

You are so deaf, the lady cried 
(And raised her voice, and frown'd beside), 
You are so sadly deaf, my dear. 
What shall I do to make you hear ? 

Dismiss poor Harry I he replies ; 
Some people are more nice than wise : 
For one slight trespass all this stir 1 
What if he did ride whip and spur, 
'Twas but a mile — your favourite horse 
Will never look one hair the worse. 

Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing — 
Child I I am rather hard of hearing — 
Yes, truly ; one must scream and bawl : 
I tell you, you can't hear at all .' 
Then, with a voice exceeding low. 
No matter if you hear or no. 

Alas I and is domestic strife. 
That sorest ill of human life, 
A plague so little to be fear'd. 
As to be wantonly incurr'd. 
To gratify a fretful passion. 
On every trivial provocation? 
The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear; 
And something, every day they live. 
To pity, and perhaps forgive. 
But if infirmities, that fall 
In common to the lot of all, 
A blemish or a sense impair'd. 
Are crimes so little to be spared. 
Then farewell all that must create 
The comfort of the wedded state ; 
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar. 
And tumult, and intestine war. 

The love that cheers life's latest stage 
Proof against sickness and old age, 
Preserved by virtue from declension. 
Becomes not weary of attention ; 
But lives, when that exterior grace. 
Which first inspired the flame, decays, 
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind. 
To faults compassionate or blind. 



196 THE NEGROS COMPLAINT. 

And wjU wdth sympathy endure 
Those evils, it would gladly cure : 
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression 
Shews love to be a mere profession ; 
Proves that the heart is none of bis; 
Or soon expels him if it is. 



THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 
Forced from home a?ul all its pleasiires, 

Afric's coast I left forlorn ; 
To increase a stranger's treasures. 

O'er the raging billows borne. 
Men from England bought and sold me, 

Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
But, though slave they have enroll'd me, 

Minds are never to be sold. 
Still in thought as free as ever, 

What are England's rights, I ask, 
Me from my delights to sever; 

Me to torture, me to task? 
Fleecy locks and black complexion 

Cannot forfeit nature's claim ; 
Skins may differ, but affection 

Dwells in white and black the same 
Why did all-creating Nature 

Make the plant for which we toil? 
Sighs must fan it, tears must water, 

Sweat of ours must dress the soil. 
Think, ye masters, iron-hearted. 

Lolling at your jovial boards ; 
Think how many backs have smarted 

For the sweets your cane affords. 
Is there, as ye sometimes tell us. 

Is there One, who reigns on high? 
Has he bid yoii buy and sell us. 

Speaking from his throne the sky? 
Ask him, if your knotted scourges. 

Matches, blood-extorting screws. 
Are the means that duty urges. 

Agents of his will to use t 



FITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 197 

Hark I he answers=— wild tornadoes, 

Sti'ewing- yonder sea witii ^vl•eck8, 
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, 

Are the voice with which he speaks. 
He, foreseeing what vexations 

Afric's sons should undergo, 
Fix'd tlieir tyrants' habitations 

Where his whirlwinds answer — No. 

By our blood in Afric wasted. 

Ere our necks received the chain ; 
By the miseries that we tasted. 

Crossing in your barks the main ; 
By our sufferings, since ye brought us 

To the man-degrading mart ; 
All sustain'd by patience taught us 

Only by a broken heart : 

Deem our nation brutes no longer. 

Till some reason ye shall find 
Worthier of regard and stronger 

Than the colour of our kind. 
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings 

Tarnish all your boasted powers. 
Prove that you have human feelings. 

Ere you proudly question ours ! 



PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 

* Video meliora proboque, 
Deteriora sequor.'— 

1 OWN I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves, 
A lid feai" those who buy them and sell them,are knaves; 
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures and 
Is almost enough to draw pity from stones, [groans, 

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, 
For how could we do without sugar and rum? 
Especially sugar, so needful we see ; 
What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea I 



11^ PITY FOR POUR AFRICANS. 

Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes 
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains ; 
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will. 
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still. 

If foreigners likewise would give up the trade. 
Much more in behalf of your wiah misjht be said ; 
But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks. 
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks 1 

Your scruples and arguments bring to my mint" 
A story so pat, you may think it is coin'd, 
On purpose to answer you, out of my mint ; 
But I can assure you I saw it in print. 

A youngster at school, more sedate than the test, 
Had once his integrity put to the test ; 
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob 
And ask'd him to go and assist in the job. 

•He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd, ' Oh no I 
What ! rob our good neighbour ! I pray you don't go; 
Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread, 
Then think of his children, for they must be fed/ 

Yoxi speak very fine, and you look very grave. 
Bat apples we want, and apples we'll have ; 
If you will go with us you shall have a share. 
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.' 

They spoke, and Tom ponder'd — ' I see they will go 
Poor man I what a pity to injure him so ! 
Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could. 
But staying behind would do him no good. 

' If the matter depended alone upon me. 
His apples might hang, till they drop from the tree 
But, since they will take them, I think I'll go too. 
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.' 

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, 
And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; 
He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan: 
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. 



THE MORNING DREAM. 

TwAS in the glad season of spring. 

Asleep at the dawn of the day, 
I dream'd what I cannot but sing. 

So pleasant it seem'd as I lay 
I dream'd, that, on ocean afloat. 

Far hence to the westward I sail'd. 
While the billows high-lifted the boat 

And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd. 

In the steerage a woman I saw. 

Such at least was the form that she wore. 
Whose beauty impress'd me with awe. 

Ne'er taught me by woman before. 
She sat, and a shield at her side 

Shed light, like a sun on the waves. 
And smiling divinely, she cried — 

* I go to make freemen of slaves.' — 

Then raising her voice to a strain. 

The sweetest that ear ever heard. 
She sung of the slave's broken chain. 

Wherever her glory appear'd. 
Some clouds, which had over us hun^. 

Fled, chased by her melody clear. 
And methought while she liberty sung, 

'Twas liberty only to hear. 

Thus swiftly dividing the flood. 

To a slave-cultured island we came. 
Where a demon, her enemy, stood — 

Oppression his tenible name. 
In his hand, as the sign of his sway, 

A scourge hung with lashes he bore. 
And stood looking out for his prey 

From Africa's sorrowfiU shore. 

But soon as approaching the land 
That goddess-like woman he view'd. 

The scourge he let fall from his hand. 
With the blood of his subjects imbrued. 



900 NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. 
I saw him both sicken and die. 

And the moment the monster expired. 
Heard shouts that ascended the sky 
From thousands with rapture inspired. 

Awaking, how could I hut muse 

At what such a dream should betide 1 
But soon my ear caught the glad news. 

Which served my weak thought for a gxiide 
That Britannia, renown 'd oer the waves 

For the hatred she ever has shewn. 
To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves. 

Resolves to have none of her own. 



THE 
NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. 
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long 
Had cheer'd the village with his song. 
Nor yei at tvehis note suspended. 
Nor yet when eventide was endei, 
Began to ieel, a» v/ell he might. 
The keen demands of appetite ; 
When, looking eagerly around, 
He spied far off, upon the ground, 
A something shining in the dark. 
And knew the glow-worm by his spark ; 
So stooping down from hawthorn top, 
He thought to put him in his crop. 
The worm, aware of his intent. 
Harangued him thus, right eloquent: — 

Did you admire my lamp, quoth he. 
As much as I your minstrelsy. 
You would abhor to do me wrong. 
As much as I to spoil your song : 
For 'twas the self-same Power divine 
Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; 
That you with music, I will light. 
Might beautify and cheer the night. 

The songster heard his short oration. 
And, warbling out his approbation. 



ON A GOLDFINCH. 201 

Released him, as my story tells. 
And foimd a supper somewhere else. 

Hence jarring sectaries may learn 
Their real interest to discern ; 
That brother should not war with brother 
And worr , and devour each other : 
But sing and shine by sweet consent, 
Till life's poor transient nig-ht is spent. 
Respecting in each other's case 
The gifts of nature and of grace. 

Those Christians best deserve the name. 
Who studiously make peace their aim ; 
Peace both the duty and the prize 
Of him that creeps and him that flies. 



ON A GOLDFINCH, 

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGB. 

Time was when I was free as air. 
The thistle's downy seed my fare. 

My drink the morning dew ; 
I perch'd at will on every spray, 
My form genteel, my plumage gayf 

My strains for ever new 

But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, 
And form genteel, were all in vain. 

And of a transient date ; 
For caught and caged, and starved to death. 
In dying sighs my little breath 

Soon pass'd the wiry grate. 

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woea. 
And thanks for this effectual close 

And cure of every ill ; 
More cruelty could none express; 
And I, if you had shewn me less. 

Had been your prisoner still. 
1 • 



PINEAPPLE AND THE BEE. 

The pineapples, in triple row. 
Were basking hot, and all in blow ; 
A bee of most discerning taste 
Perceived the fragi-ance as he pass'd. 
On eager wing the spoiler came. 
And search'd for crannies in the frame, 
Urged his attempt on every side. 
To every pane his trunk applied: 
But still in vain, the frame was tight. 
And only pervious to the light : 
Thus having wasted half the day. 
He trimm'd his flight another way. 

Methinks, I said, in thee I find 
The sin and madness of mankind. 
To joys forbidden man aspires, 
Consumes his soul with vain desires ; 
Folly the spring of his pursuit. 
And disappointment all the fruit 
While Cynthio ogles, as she passes. 
The nymph between two chariot glasses. 
She is the pineapple, and he 
The#illy unsuccessful bee. 
The maid, who views with pensive air 
The show-glass fraught with glittering ware 
Sees watches, bracelets, rings and lockets. 
But sighs at thought of empty pockets ; 
Like thine, her appetite is keen, 
!5 lit ah ! the ci-uel glass between ! 

Our dear delights are often such, 
Exposed to view, but not to touch ; 
The sight our foolish heart inflames. 
We long for pineapples in frames ; 
With hopeless wish one looks and lingers. 
One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers: 
But they whom truth and wisdom lead, 
Can gather honey from a weed. 



HORACE. 
Boot II. Ode 10. 
Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach 
So shalt thou live beyoud the reach 

Of adverse Fortune's power; 
Not always tempt the distant deep. 
Nor always timorously creep 

Along the treacherous shore. 
He that holds fast the golden mean. 
And lives contentedly between 

The little and the great. 
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor. 
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 

Imbittering all his state. 
The tallest pines feel most the power 
Of wintry blasts ; the loftiest tower 

Comes heaviest to the ground ; 
The bolts, that spare the mountain side, 
His cloud-capp'd eminence divide. 

And spread the ruin round. 
The well-inform'd philosopher 
Rejoices with a wholesome fear. 

And hopes, in spite of pain ; 
If winter bellow from the noith. 
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing foith. 

And Nature laughs again. 
What if thine heaven be ovei'cast. 
The dark appearance will not last ; 

Expect a brighter sky. 
The god that strings the silver bow. 
Awakes somf^time.^ the muses too. 

And lays bis arrows by. 

If hind'rances obstruct thy way. 
Thy magnanimity display. 

And let thy strength be seen ; 
But O ! if fortune fill thy sail 
With more than a propitious gale« 

Take half thy canvass in. 



2(»4 

A REFLECTION 

ON THE FOREGOING OIE. 

And is this all ? Can Reason do no more 

Than hid me shun the deep, and dread the shor<»l 

Sweet moralist ! afloat on life's rough sea, 

The Christian has an art unknown to thee. 

He holds no parley with unmanly fears : 

Where duty bids he confidently steers. 

Faces a thousand dangers at her call, 

And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. 



THE LILY AND THE ROSE. 

The nymph must lose her female friend 
If more admired than she — 

But where will fierce contention end. 
If flowers can disagree 1 

Within the garden's peaceful scene 

Appear'd two lovely foes. 
Aspiring to the rank of queen. 

The Lily and the Rose. 

The Rose soon redden'd into rage, 

And swelling with disdain, 
Appeal'd to many a poet's page 

To proTe her right to reign. 

The Lily's height bespoke command, 

A fair imperial flower ; 
She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand, 

The sceptre of her power. 

This civil bickering and debate 
The goddess chanced to hear. 

And flew to save, ere yet too late, 
The pride of the parterre. 

Yours is, she said, the noblest hue 
And yours the statelier mein ; 

And, till a third surpasses you. 
Let each be deem'd a queen. 



IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. 208 

Thus sooth'd and reconciled, each seeks 

The fairest British fair; 
The seat of empire is her cheeks. 

They reign united there. 



IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. 

Heu inimicitias quoties parit asmula forma, 
Quam raro pulchra; pulchra placere potest ! 

Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit. 
Cum flores ipsas bilis et ira movent. 

Hortus uhi dulces pra?bet tacitosque recessus, 
Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas ; 

Hlc sibi regales Amaryllis Candida cultus, 
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa. 

Ira Rosam et meritis quassita superbia tangunt, 
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu, 

Bum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomiua vatum, 
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat. 

Altior emicat ilia et celso vertice nutat, 
Ceu flores inter non habitura parem, 

Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus 
Imperii, sceptrum. Flora quod ipsa gerat. 

Nee Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixse, 
Cui curae est pictas pandere ruris opes, 

Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tuen, 
Dum licet et locus est, et tueatur, adest. 

Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit ; 

Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color ; 
Et donee vincat qusedam formosior ambas, 

Et tibi reginae nomen, et esto tibi. 

His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nymphana, 
Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit: 

Banc penes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, hujiis 
Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis. 



206 



THE POPLAR FIELD. 

The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade. 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves. 
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view 
Of my favoui-ite field, and the bank where they grew j 
And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat. 
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, 
And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before, 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away, 

And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 

With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, 

Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 

'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can, 
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; 
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see. 
Have a being less durable even than he.* 



IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. 

PopulEjE cecidit gratissima copia silvas, 
Conticufire susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra. 
Nullas jam levibus se miscent frondibus aurse, 
Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago. 

Hei mihi ! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos. 
His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu, 
Cum sero rediens, stratasque in gramine cemens, 
Inscdi arboribus, sub quels errare solebam. 

• Mr. Cowper afterward altered this last stanza In the foliowing 
manner : 

The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
1 reilect on the frailty of man and his joys : 
Short-lived as we are, yet our [)leasures, we see, 
Have a still shorter date, and die soonur than we. 



CICINDELA. 2K 

Ah ubi nunc merulae cantus ? Felicior ilium 
Silya tegit, durse nondum permissa bipenni ; 
Scilicet exustos colles camposqt.e patentes 
Odit, et indignans et non re di turns abivit. 

Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse, 
Et prius huic parilis quam creverit altera silva 
Flebor, et, exsequiis parris donatus, habebo 
Deflxum lapidem tumulique cubautis acervum. 

Tam subito periisse videns tarn digna manere, 
Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata — 
Sit licet ipse brevis, volucrique similliiniis umbras 
Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas. 



VOTUM. 
O MATUTiNi rores, aurseque sialubres, 
O nemora, et Icetce rivis fellcibus berba», 
Graminei colles, et amoenae in vallibiis umbrse ! 
Fata modo dederint quas olim in rure paterno 
Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi. 
Quam vellem ignotua, quod mens mea semper avebat 
Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam. 
Turn demum, exactis non infeliciter annis, 
Sortiri taciturn lapidem, aut sub caespite condi ! 



CICINDELA. 

BY VINCENT BOURNE. 

Sub sepe exiguum est, nee raro in margins ripae, 

Reptile, quod lucet nocte, dieque latet. 
Vermis habet speciem, sed habet de lumine nomen; 

At prisca a fama non liquet, unde micet. 
Plerique a cauda credunt procedere lumen ; 

Nee desunt, credunt qui rutilare caput. 
Nam superas Stellas quae nox accendit, et illi 

Parcam eadem lucem dat, moduloque parem, 
Forsitan hoc prudens voluit Natura caveri, 

Ne pede quis duro reptile contereret : 
Exiguam, in tenebris ne gressum offenderet ulliu, 

Pnetendi voluit forsitan ilia facem. 



208 THE GLOW VVOR.M. 

Sive usum hunc Natura parens, seu maluit ilium; 

Haud frustia accensa est lux, radiique dati. 
Ponite V03 fastus, humiles iiec speniite, mayni ; g, 

Quando habet et minimum reptile, quod niteat. > 



I. THE GLOW-WORM. 

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOINQ. 

Beneath the hedge, or near the stream, 

A worm is known to stray ; 
That shews by night a lucid beam. 

Which disappears by day. 

Disputes have been, and still prevail, 
From whence his rays proceed ; 

Some give that honoxir to his tail, 
And others to his head. 

But this is sure — the hand of night, 

That kindles up the skies, 
Gives him a modicum of light 

Proportion'd to his size. 

Perhaps indulgent Nature meant. 

By such a lamp bestow'd. 
To bid the traveller, as he went. 

Be careful where he trod : 

Nor crush a worm, whose useful light 
Might serve, however small, 

To shew a stumbling-stone by night. 
And save him from a fall 

Whatever she meant, this truth divine 

Is legible and plain, 
Tis power Almighty bids him shine. 

Nor bids him shine in vain. 

Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme 
Teach humbler thoughts to you. 

Since such a reptile has its gem. 
And boasts its splendour too. 



209 
CORNICULA. 

BY VINCENr BOHRNB. 

NiOBAS inter aves avis est, quae plurima taxtei, 

Antiquas aedes, ceJsaque fana colit. 
Nil tarn sublime est, quod non audace volatu, 

Aeriis spemens, inferiora, petit. 
Quo nemo ascendat, cui non vertigo cerebrum 

Corripiat, certe hiuic seligit ilia locum. 
Quo vix a terra tu suspicis absque tremore. 

Ilia metus expers incolumisque sedet. 
Lamina delubri supra fastigia, ventus 

Qua coeli spiret de regione, docet ; 
Hanc ea pras reliquis mavult, secura pericli, 

Nee CUI at, nedum cogitat, unde cadat. 
Res inde humanas, sed summa per otia, spectat^ 

Et nihil ad sese, quas videt, esse videt. 
Concursus spectat, plateaque negotia in omni, 

Omnia pro nugis at sapienter habet. 
Clamores, quas infra audit, si forsitan audit, 

Pro rebus nihili negligit, et crocitat. 
Ule tibi invideat, felix cornicula, pennas, 

Qui sic humanis rebus abesse velit. 

II. THE JACKDAW. 

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. 

There is a bird, who, by his coat. 
And by the hoarseness of his note, 

Mig-ht be supposed a crow ; 
A ^eat frequenter of the church. 
Where bishop-like he finds a perch. 

And dormitory too. 

Above the steeple shines a plate. 
That turns and turns to indicate 

From what point blows the weather: 
Look up — your brains begin to swim, 
'Tis in the clouds — that pleases him ; 

He chooses it the rather. 



210 AD GRILLUM. 

Fond of the speculatire height. 
Thither he wings his airy flight, 

And thence securely sees 
The hustle and the raree-show. 
That occupy mankind below, 

Secure and at his ease. 

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
On future broken bones and bruises, 

If he should chance to fall. 
No ; not a single thought like that 
Employs his philosophic pate. 

Or troubles it at all. 

He sees, that this great roundabout. 
The world, with all its motley roxtt. 

Church, army, physic, law. 
Its customs, and its businesses, 
Is no concern at all of his. 

And says — what says he ? — Caw. 

Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen 
Much of the vanities of men ; 

And, sick of having seen 'em, 
Would cheerfully these limbs resigti 
For such a pair of wings as thine. 

And such a head between 'em 



AD GRILLUM. 

Anacreonticum. 

BY VINCENT BOURNE. 

O QUI meae culinse 
Argutulus choraules 
Et hospes es canorus, 
Quacunque commoreris, 
Felicitatis omen ; 
Jucundiore cantu 
Siquando me salutes, 
Et ipse te rependam, 
Et ipse, qua valebo, 
Remunerabo musd. 



THE CRICKET, 211 

DicSris innocensque 
Et gratus inquilinus; 
Nee victitaus rapinis, 
Ut sorices voraces, 
Muresve curiosi, 
Ferumque delicatiun 
Vulgns domesticorum ^ 
Sed tutus m cnmini 
Recessibus, quiete 
Conteutus et calore. 

Beatior Cicada, 
Quae te refei-rc forma, 
Qua; voce te videtur; 
Et saltitaiis per herlias, 
Unius, baud secundse, 
iEstatis est chorista ; 
Tu carmen integratum 
Reponis ad Decenibrern 
Lsetus per luiive.j-^uni 
Incontiuentiir anuuin. 

Te nulla lux reiinquit, 
Te nulla nox revisit, 
Non musicae vaoantera 
Curisve non solutum : 
Quin amplies canendo, 
^tatulam, vel omni, 
Quam nos homunciones 
Absumimtis querendo, 
^tate longiorem. 

III. THE CRICKET. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FORKGOING, 

Little inmate, full of mirth, 
Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
Wheresoe'er be thine abode, 
Always harbinger of good. 
Pay me for thy warm retreat 
With a song more soft and a-.voet ; 
In return thou shalt receive 
Such a strain as I can give. 



212 SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE. 

Thus thy praise shall he express'd* 
Inoffensive, welcome guest 1 
While the rat is on the scout, 
And the mouse with curious snoitt* 
With what vermin else infest 
Every dish, and spoil the best; 
Frisking thus before the fire 
Thou hast all thine heart's desire. 

Though in voice and shape they be 
Form'd as if akin to thee, 
Thou surpassest, happier far. 
Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 
Theirs is but a summer's song. 
Thine endures the winter long ; 
Unimpair'd, and shrill, and clear, 
Melody throughout the year. 

Neither night, nor dawn of day. 
Puts a period to thy play : 
Sing then— and extend thy span 
Far beyond the date of man. 
Wretched man, whose years are spent 
In repining discontent, 
Lives not, aged though he be. 
Half a span, compared with thee. 



SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE. 

BY VINCENT BOURNE. 

Cristatus, pictisque ad Thaida Psittacus aliia. 

Missus ab Eoo munus amante venit. 
Ancillis mandat primam forraare loquelaia, 

ArchididascaliEC dat sibi Thais opus. 
Psittace, ait Thais, fingitque sonantia molle 

Basia, quae docilis molle refingit avis. 
Jam captat, jam dimidiat tyrunculus; et jam 

Integrat auditos articulatque sonos. 
Psittace mi pulcher pulchelle, hera (l'>it ulonuio} 

Psittace mi pulcher, reddit alumnus herse. 
ilaraque canit, ridet, deciesque aegrotat in horS 

Et rocat ancillas nomine quamque suo. 



THE PARROT. 213 

Multaque scurratur mendax, et multa jocatxir 

Et lepido populum detinet augurio. 
Nunc tremulum illudet fratrem, qui suspicit, etPoll 

Camalis. quisquis te docet, iiiquit, homo est ; 
Arg^tae nunc stridet auus argutulus instar : 

Respicit, et nebulo es, quisquis es, inquit anus. 
Quando fuit melior tyro, meliorve niagistrai 

Quando duo ingeniis tarn coiere pares 1 
Ardua discenti nulla est, res nulla docenti 

Ardua ; cum doceat foemina, discat avis. 



IV. THE PARROT. 

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING, 

In painted plumes superbly dress'd 
A native of the gorgeous east, 

By many a billow toss'd. 
Poll gains at length the British shore, 
Part of the captain's precious store, 

A present to his toast. 

Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd, 
To teach him now and then a word 

As Poll can master it ; 
But 'tis her own important charge. 
To qualify him more at large, 

And make him quite a wit. 

Sweet Poll I his doting mistress cries. 
Sweet Poll ! the mimic bird replies ; 

And calls aloud for sack. 
She next instructs him in the kiss ; 
Tis now a little one, like Miss, 

And now a hearty smack. 

At first he aims at what he hears ; 
And, listening close with both his ears. 

Just catches at the sound ; 
But soon articulates aloud. 
Much to the amusement of the crowd* 

And stuns the neighbours round. 



214 CHLOE AND EUFHELIA. 

A querulous old woman's voice 
His humorous talent next employs ; 

He scolds and gives the lie. 
And now he sings, and now is sick, 
Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick. 

Poor Poll is like to die ! 

Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare 

To meet with such a well-match'd pair* 

The language and the tone. 
Each charactei in every part 
Sustain 'd with so much grace and art. 

And both in unison. 

When children first begin to spell. 
And stammer out a syllable, 

We think them tedious creatures! 
But difficulties soon abate, 
When birds are to be taught to pratv. » 

And women are the teachers. 



TRANSLATION OF 

PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. 

Mercator, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit. 

Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes : 
Lene sonat liqtiiaumqup meis Euphelia chordis, 

Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe- 
Ad speciUum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines, 

Cum dixit mea lux, Heus, cane, sume l>Tam. 
Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit, 

Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. 
Fila lyre rocemque paro, suspiria siu-gunt 

Et miscent numeris murmura moesta meis, 
Dumque tuas memoro laudes, Eaphelia, formae, 

Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chloes. 

Subrubet iUa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem 
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo; 

Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona, 
Heu ! fallendi artem quam didicere parum. 



216 



THE DIVERTING 

HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 

how he went farther than he intended, an 
safe home agaia. 

John Gilpin was a citizen 

Of credit and renown, 
A train-band captain eke was he 

Of famous London town. 

John Gilpin's spoiise said to her dear, 
Though wedded we have been 

These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
No holiday have seen. 

To-morrow is our wedding-day, 

And we will then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 

All in a chaise and pair. 

My sister, and my sister's child 

Myself, and children three. 
Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 

On horseback after we. 

He soon replied, I do admire 

Of womankind but one. 
And you are she, my dearest dear. 

Therefore it shall be done. 

I am a linen-draper bold. 
As all the world doth know. 

And my good friend the calender 
Will lend his horse to go. 

Qnoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ; 

And for that wine is dear. 
We will be fumish'd with our own. 

Which is both bright and clear. 

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; 

O'erjoy'd was he to find. 
That though on pleasure she was bent* 

She had a frugal mind. 



216 HISTORY OF 

The morning came, the chaise was brotight. 

But yet was not allow'd 
To drive up to the door, least all 

Should say that she was proud 
So three doors off the chaise was stay'd. 

Where they did all get in ; 
Six precious souls, and all agog 

To dash through thick and thin. 
Smack went the whip, round went the whecla. 

Were never folks so glad, 
The stones did rattle underneath, 

As if Cheapside were mad. 
John Gilpin at his horse's side 

Seized fast the flowing mane. 
And up he got, in haste to ride. 

But soon came down again ; 
For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he. 

His journey to begin. 
When turning round his head he saw 

Three customers come in. 
So down he came ; for loss of time. 

Although it grieved him sore ; 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew. 

Would trouble him much more. 
Twas long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind. 
When Betty screaming came down stairs, 

* The wine is left behind I' 
Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring it me 

My leathern belt likewise. 
In which I bear my trudty sword. 

When I do exercise. 
Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul I) 

Had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that she loved. 

And keep it safe and sound. 
Each bottle had a curling ear. 

Through which the belt he drew. 
And hung a bottle on each side, 

To make his balance true. 



JOHI^ GILPIN. 

Then over all, that he might foe 

Equipp'd from top to toe, 
His long red cloak, well brush'd and ucat« 

He manfully did throw. 
Now see him mounted once again 

Upon his nimble steed. 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones. 

With caution and good heed. 
But finding soon a smoother road 

Beneath his well-shod feet. 
The snorting beast began to trot, 

Which gall'd him in his seat. 
So, fair and softly, John he cried, 

But John he cried in vain ; 
That trot became a gallop soon. 

In spite of curb and rein. 
So stooping down, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit upright. 
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands. 

And eke with all his might. 
His horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before, 
What thing upon his back had got 

Did wonder more and more. 
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 

Away went hat and wig ; 
He little dreamt, when he set out. 

Of running such a rig. 
Tha -wdnd did blow, the cloak did fly. 

Like streamer long and gay, 
Till, loop and button failing both, 

At last it flew away. 
Then might all people well discen.' 

The bottles he had slung ; 
A bottle swinging at each side. 

As hath been said or sung. 
The dogs did bark, the children screum'dy 

Up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out. Well done I 

Ab loud a? he could bawl. 
K 



us HJ STORY OF 

Away went Gilpin— who but he? 

His fame soon spread aromid, 
He carries -weight I he rides a rao6f 

'Tia for a thouisand pound ! 
And still, as fast as he drew near, 

'Twas wonderful to view. 
How in a trice the turnpike men 

Their gates wide open threw. 
And now, as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low. 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shatter'd at a blow. 
Down ran the wine into the road. 

Most piteous to be seen. 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 

As they had basted been. 
But still he seem'd to carry weight. 

With leathern girdle braced ; 
For all might see the bottle-necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 
Thus all through merry Islington 

These gambols he did play, 
Until he came unto the Wash 

Of Edmonton so gay ; 
And there he threw the wash about 

On both sides of the way. 
Just like unto a trundling mop. 

Or a wild goose at play. 
At Edmonton his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering m acA 

To see how he did ride. 
Stop, stop, John Gilpin I— Here's the 

They all at once did cry ; 
The dinner waits, and we are tired ; 

Said Gilpin — So am 1 1 
But yet his horse was not a whit 

Inclined to tarry there ! 
For why ? — ^his owner had a house 
Full ten miles off, at Ware. 



JOHN aiLPLN. 21B 

So like an arrow swift he flew. 

Shot by an archer strong ; 
So did he fly — which brings me to 

The middle of my song. 
Away went Gilpin out of breath, 

And sore against his will, 
rill at his friend the calender's 

His horse at last stood still. 
The calender, amazed to see 

His neighbour in such trim. 
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, 

And thus accosted him : 
What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ; 

Tell me you must and shall — 
Say why bareheaded you are come, 

Or why you come at all ? 
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit. 

And loved a timely joke ; 
And thus unto the calender 

In merry guise he spoke : 
I came because your horse would come , 

And, if I well forbode. 
My hat and wig will soon be here. 

They are upon the road. 
The calender, right glad to find 

His friend in merry pin, 
Retum'd him not a single word. 

But to the house went in ; 
Whence straight he came with hat and wijf ; 

A wig that flow'd behind, 
4. hat not much the worse for wear. 

Each comely in its kind. 
He held them up, and in his ta 

Thus shew'd his ready wit. 
My Head is twice as big as yours. 

They therefore needs must fit. 
But let me scrape the dirt away, /^ 

That hangs upon your face ; 
And stop and eat, for well you may 

Be in a hungry case. 



229 JOHN GILPIN. 

Said John, It is niy Avedding-day, 

And all the Avorld would stare, 
If wife should dine at Edmonton, 

And I should dine at Ware. 
So turning to his horse, he said, 

I am in haste to dine ; 
'Twas for your pleasure you came hers* 

You shall go back for mine. 
Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! 

For which he paid full dear; 
For, while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most loud and clear ; 
Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar, 
And gailop'd off with all his might, 

As he had done before. 
Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig : 
He lost tliem sooner than at first. 

For why ? — they were too big. 
Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw 

Her husband posting down 
Into the country far away. 

She pull'd out half-a-crown ; 
And thus unto the youth she said 

That drove them to the Bell, 
This shall be yours, when you bring badf 

My husband safe and well. 
The youth did ride, and soon did meet 

John coming back amain : 
Whom in a trice he tried to stop. 

By catching at his rein ; 
Bat not performing what he meant, 

And gladly would have done. 
The frighted steed he frighted mor«. 

And made him faster run. 
Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went postboy at his heels. 
The postboy's horse right glad to miM 

The Itmibering of the wheels. 



EPISTLE TO A L.VDY IN FRANCE. 221 

Six gentlemen upon the road. 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With postboy scampering in the rear. 

They raised the hue and cry : 
Stop thief! stop thief I— a highwayman; 

Not one of them was mute ; 
And all and each that pass'd that way 

Did join in the pursuit. 
And now the turnpike gates again 

Flew open in short space ; 
Tlie toll-men thinking as before, 

That Gilpin rode a race. 
And so he did, and won it too. 

For he got first to town ; 
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 

He did again get down. 
Now let us sing, Long live the king. 

And Gilpin long live he ; 
And when he next doth ride abroad. 

May I be there to see ! 



AN EPISTLE 

TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCC. 
Madam, 
A stranger's purpose in these lays 
Is to congratulate, and not to praise ; 
To give the creature the Creator's due 
Were sin in me, and an offence to you. 
From man to man, or e'en to woman paid. 
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, 
A coin by craft for folly's use design'd. 
Spurious, and only ciuTent with <^he blind. 

The path of sorrow, and that path alone. 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode. 
Who found not thorns and briers in his road. 
The wori X may dance along the floA* ei-y plain,. 
Cheer'^ as they go by many a sprightly strain,' 



222 EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE. 

Where Nature has hei mossy velvet spread 

With unshod feet the> yet securely ti-ead ; 

Adraonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, 

Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. 

But He, who knew what human hearts would prove 

How slow to learn the dictates of his love. 

That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will, 

A life of ease would make them harder still, 

In pity to the souls his ^ace desigu'd 

To rescue from the ruins of mankind, 

Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years. 

And said, * Go, spend them in the vale of tears.' 

O balmy gales of soul-reviving airi 

O salutary streams, that murmur there ! 

These flowing from the fount of grace above. 

Those breath'd from lips of everlasting love. 

The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ; 

Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys; 

An envious world will interpose its frown, 

To mar delights superior to its own ; 

And many a pang, experienced still within. 

Reminds them of their hated inmate. Sin: 

But ills of every shape and every name, 

Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim ; 

And every moment's calm that soothes the breast, 

Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! 
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 
But the chief Shepherd even there is near ; 
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
Thy tears all issue from a source divine. 
And every drop bespeats a Saviour thine — 
So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
And drought on all the drooping herbs around. 



TO THB 

REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN 

Unwin, I should but ill repay 

The kindness of a friend. 
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay 

As ever friendship penn'd. 
Thy name omitted in a pag'e, 
That would reclaim a vicious age. 

A union form'd, as mine with tbeo. 

Not rashly, or in sport. 
May be as fer\ ent in degree. 

And faithful in its sort. 
And may as rich in comfort prove, 
As that of true fraternal love. 

The bud inserted in the rind. 

The bud of peach or rose. 
Adorns, though differing in its kind 

The stock whereon it grows. 
With flower as sweet, or fniit as fair 
As if produced by Nature there. 

Not rich, I render what I may, 
I seize thy name in haste. 

And place it in this iirst essay. 
Lest this should prove the last. 

'Tis where it should be — in a plan. 

That holds in vieV the good of ; 

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, 
Shoiild be the poet's heart; 

Affection lights a brighter flame 
Than ever blazed by art. 

No muses on these lines attend 

1 aiuk the poet in the friend. 



THE TASK. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The history of the following production is briefly 
this : A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem 
of that kind from the author, and gave him the 
SOFA for a subject. He obeyed ; and having much 
leisure, ci/nnected another subject with it ; and pur- 
suing the train of thought to which his situation 
and turn of mind led him, brought forth at length, 
instead of the trifle which he at first intended, a 
serious affair — a Volume. 

In the poem on the subject of Education, he 
would be very sorry to stand suspected of having 
aimed his censure at any particular school. His 
objecticns are such, as naturally apply themselves 
to schools in general. If there were not, as for 
the most part there is, wilful neglect in those who 
manage them, and an omission even of such dis- 
cipline as they are siisceptible of, the olijects are yet 
too numerous for minute attention ; and the aching 
hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning under the 
bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth of 
the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with the 
mischief ^t large, and not with any particular 
instance of it. 



THE TASK. 



BOOK I. 

HUtoiical deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa.— -A 

schoolboy's ramble. — A walk in the coiiiUry. — The scene de- 
scribttl.— Rural sounds as well as sight^^ de'lightful. — Another 
walk. — Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected. — 
Colonnades commended. — Alcove, and the view from it.— The 
wUliriiChs.— The gro\e.— The lllre^he^.— The necessity and 
tiie beiiciils oi exercise. — Tlie works of nature superior to, and 
in iiOtne nistaiicc.-. inimituule by, art. — The wcansoniencs^. ot 
what is commonly called a life of pleasure. — Change of scent 
sonielinies cKj.L-dient. — A common described, and the chiiraV 
ter of ('ra7y Ivate introduce'l. — Gipsies. — The blessinijs of civi 
lii'.ed life — That state most favourable to virtue. -The Soiuli 
Sea isla iders compiissionated, but chierty Oniai. — His present 
state of nund -Ull|;0^ed. — Civilized life friendly to virtue, but 
not irreat cities. — Great cities, and Loudon in particular, al- 
lowed their due praise, but censured. — Fete champetre. — The 
book concludes with a rctlection on the fital effects of dissipa- 
tion and effeminacy upon our public luanners. 

THE SOFA. 

I SING tlie Sofa. I, who lately sang 

Trutli, Hope, and Charity,* and touch'd with awe 

The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand. 

Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight, 

Now seek repose upon an humbler theme ; 

The theme though humble, yet august and pw)ud 

The occasion — for the Fair commands the soi?g. 

Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use. 
Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. 
As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth, 
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock 
Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud. 
Fearless of wrong, reposed his wearied strength. 
Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 
The birth-day of Invention : weak at first, 
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs 
Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 
A massy slab, in fashion square or round. 

• See Poems, pages 60. 92. 111. 
K2 



THE TASK. 

On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, 

Asd sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms : 

And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 

May still be seen ; but perforated sore. 

And drill'd in holes, the solid oak is found, 

By worms voracious eaten through and through. 

At length a generation more refined 
Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four. 
Gave them a twisted form vermicular, 
And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stu't'd , 
Induced a splendid cover, green and blue, 
Yellow and red, of tapesti-y richly wrought 
And woven close, or needle-work sublime. 
There migbt ye see the piony spread wide, 
The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lasSj 
Lap-dog and lambkin with black stalling eyes. 
And panots with twin cherries in their beak. 

Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright 
With Nature's varnish ; severed into stripes. 
That interlaced each other, these supplied 
Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced 
The new machine, and it became a chair. 
But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease ; 
The slipper^' seat betray'd the sliding part. 
That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down. 
Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
These for the rich, — ^the rest, whom Fate had plac«d 
In modest mediocrity, content 
With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides. 
Obdurate and iinyielding, glassy smooth, 
With here and there a tuft of crimson yam. 
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd, 
If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd 
Than the firm oak, of which the frame was form'd. 
No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight. 
But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say. 
An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; 
And some ascribe the invention to a priest. 
Burly, and big, and studious of his ease. 



THE SOFA. 227 

But rude at first, and not with easy slope 
Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs. 
And bruised the side ; and, elevated high. 
Taught the raised shoulders to inrade the ears. 
Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires 
Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in. 
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 
'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex : 
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased 
Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair, 
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised 
The soft settee; one elbow at each end, 
And in the midst an elbow it received. 
United yet divided, twain at once. 
So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; 
And so two citizens, who take the air. 
Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one. 
But relaxation of the languid frame. 
By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs. 
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow 
The growth of what is excellent ; so hard 
To obtain perfection in this nether world. 
Thus first Necessity invented stools, 
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs. 
And Luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last. 

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to v/atch the siclL 
Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he 
Who quits the coach box at the midnight hour. 
To sleep within the carriage more secure. 
His legs depending at the open door. 
Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk. 
The tedious rector drawling o'er his head : 
XiA sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep 
Of lazy iiui-sc, who snores the sick man dead; 
Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour. 
To slumber in the carriage more secure ; 
Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk; 
Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet. 
Compared \vnth the repose the Sofa yields. 

O may I live exempted (while I live 
Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) 
From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe 



228 THE TASK. 

Of libertine excess. The Sofa suits 

The gouty limb, 'tis true ; but gouty limb. 

Though on a Sofa, may I never feel : 

For I have loved the rural walk tlirough lanes 

Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep, 

And skirted thick with intertexture firm 

Of thorny boughs ; have loved the rural walk 

O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink. 

E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my boundsj 

T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames ; 

A.ni\ still remember, nor without regret 

Of hours that sorrow since has much endear'a. 

How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, 

Still hungering, pennyless, and far from home, 

I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws. 

Or blushing- crabs, or berries, that emboss 

The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. 

Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite 

Disdains not ; nor the palate, undepraved 

By culinary arts, unsavory deems. 

No Sofa tlien awaited my return ; 

Nor Sofa then 1 needed. Youth repairs 

His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil 

Incurring short fatigoie ; and, though our years, 

As life declines, speed rapidly away. 

And not a year but pilfers as he goes 

Some youthful grace, that age woiJd gladly keep, 

A tooth, or auburn lock, and by degrees 

Their length and colour from the locks they spare ; 

The elastic spring of an unwearied foot. 

That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence, 

That play of lungs, inhaling and again 

Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes 

Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me. 

Mine have not pilfer'd yet, nor yet impair'd 

My relish of fair prospect : scenes that sooth'd 

Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find 

Still soothing, and of power to charm me still. 

And witness, dear companion of my walks. 

Whose arm this twentieth winter 1 perceive 

Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love, 

Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth 



THE SOFA. 229 

And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire — 
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. 
Thou know'st my praise of Nature most sincere, 
And that my raptures are not conjured up 
To serve occasions of poetic pomp. 
But genuine, and art partner of them all. 
How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew. 
While Admiration, feeding at the eye. 
And still imsated, dwelt upon the scene. 
Thence with what pleasure have we just discem'd 
The distant plough slow moving, and beside 
His labouring team, that swerved not fi'om the track; 
The sturdy sw ain diminish'd to a boy ! 
Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain 
Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er. 
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 
Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, 
Stand, never overlook'd, our favourite elms. 
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 
While far beyord, and overthwait the sti'eami, 
Thatj as with molten glass, inlays the vale. 
The sloping land recedes into the clouds, 
Displaying on its vaiied side the grace 
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
Just undulates upon the listening ear. 
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote- 
Scenes must be beautiful, which daily view'd 
Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years : 
Praise justly due to those that I describe. 

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds. 
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike » 

The dash of Ocean on his winding shore. 
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
Uunumber'd branches waving in the blast, 
And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 



230 THE Task 

Nor less composure waits upon the roar 

Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 

Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip 

Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fail 

Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 

In matted grass, that with a livelier green 

Betrays the secret of their silent course. 

Natuj'e inanimate employs sweet sounds. 

But animated nature sweeter still, 

To soothe and satisfy the human ear. 

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 

The livelong night: nor these alone, whose notc»» 

Nice finger'd Art must emulate in vain. 

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 

In still repeated circles, screaming loud, 

The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl. 

That hails the rising moon, have charms for me : 

Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh. 

Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reignc, 

And only there, please highly for their sake. 

Peace to the artist whose ingenious thought 
Devised the weather-house, that useful toyl 
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains. 
Forth steps the man — an emblem of myself! 
More delicate, his timorous mate retires. 
When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay. 
Or ford the rivulets, are best at home, 
The task of new discoveries falls on me 
At such a season, and with such a charge. 
Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, 
A cottage, whither oft we since repair: 
'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but close 
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms. 
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
Peeps at the vale below : so thick beset 
With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
I call'd the low-roof d lodge the Peasant's Nest » 
And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
From such unpleasing sounds, as haunt the ear 
In village or in town, the bay of cui-s 
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels 



IHE SOFA.. 231 

And infants clamorous, whether pleased or pain'd. 
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine. 
Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge 
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
Vain thought ! the dweller in that still retreat 
Dearly obtains the refug-e it affords. 
Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
To drink sweet waters of the crystal v/ell ; 
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch. 
And heavy laden, brings his beverage home, 
Far fetch'd and little worth ; nor seldom waits. 
Dependent on the baker's punctual call. 
To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 
Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed. 
So farewell envy of the Peasant's Nest I 
If solitude make scant the means of life, 
Society for me !— thou seeming sweet. 
Be still a pleasing object iu my view ; 
My visit still, but never mine abode. 

Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
Invites us. Monument of ancient taste. 
Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
From s\iltry suns : and, in their shaded walks 
And long protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon 
The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
We bear our shades about us : self-deprived 
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread. 
And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
Thanks to Benevolus*— he spares me yet 
These chesnuts ranged in coiTesponding lines ; 
And, though himself so polish'd, still reprieves 
The obsolete prolixity of shade. 

Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge 
We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
Hence, ancle deep in moss and flowery thyme. 
We mount again, and feel at every step 
Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
* John Courtney Throckn/y/ton, esq. of Weston UnderwooA 



232 THE TASK. 

Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind. 
Disfigures earth ; and, plotting in the dark. 
Toils much to earn a monumental pile. 
That may record the mischiefs he has done. 

The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcore 
That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
The grand retreat from injuries impress 'd 
By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name. 
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
So strong the zeal to immortalize himself 
Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few. 
Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorr'd 
Of blank oblivion, seems a glorious prize. 
And even to a clown. Now roves the eye ; 
And, posted on this speculative height. 
Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
The middle field ; but, scatter'd by degrees. 
Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land 
There from the sun-burnt hay-field homeward creeps 
The loaded wain ; while lighten'd of its charge. 
The wain that meets it passes swiftly by ; 
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team 
Vociferous, and impatient of delay. 
Nor less attractive is the woodland scene. 
Diversified with trees of every growth 
Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks 
Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine. 
Within the twdlight of their distant shades ; 
There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood 
Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs. 
No tree in all the gi'ove but has its charms. 
Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some. 
And of a wannish gray ; the willow such. 
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf. 
And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still. 
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak. 
Some glossy-leaved and shining in the 8Tm, 



THE SOFA. 23$ 

The maple, and the beech of oily nuta 
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
Diffusing odours : nor unnoted pass 
The sycamore, capricious in attire. 
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 
O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map 
Of hill and valley interposed between), 
The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land. 
Now glitters in the sun, and now retires. 
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 

Hence the declivity is sharp and short. 
And such the re-ascent ; between them weeps 
A little naiad her impoverish'd urn 
All summer long, which winter fills again. 
The folded gates would bar my progTCss now, 
But tliat the lord* of this inclosed demesne. 
Communicative of the good he owns, 
Admits me to a share ; the guiltless eye 
Commits up wi'ong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
Refreshing change ! where now the blazing sun? 
By short transition we ha^ve lost his glare. 
And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. 
Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn 
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
That yet a remnant of your race survives. 
How airy and how light the graceful arch. 
Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
Re-echoing pious anthems! v/liile beneath 
The checker'd earth seems restless as a flood 
Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, 
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick. 
And darkening and enlightening-, as the leaves 
Play wanton, every moment, every spot. ' i 

And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits cheer'd ! 

We tread the wilderness, whose well-roU'd walks, 
With curvature of slow and easy sweep — 
Deception innocent — give ample space 
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; 
Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 
• See the foregoing note. 

Q 



234 THE TASK. 

We may discei-u the thresher at his task. 
Thump after tlmmp resounds the constant flail. 
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
Full on the destined ear Wide Hies the chaff. 
The rustling straw sends up a frequ.ent mist 
Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. 
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down. 
And sleep not : see him sweating o'er his bread 
Before he eats it. 'Tis the primal curse. 
But soften'd into mercy ; made the pledge 
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. 

By ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel. 
That Nature rides upon, maintains lier health, 
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 
An instant's pause, and lives but while she movea^ 
Its own revolvency upholds the world. 
Winds from all quarters agitate the air, 
And fit the limpid element for use. 
Else noxious; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams, 
All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleansed 
By restless undulation: e'en the oak 
Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm : 
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
The impression of the blast with proud disdain, 
Frowning, as if in his luiconscious arm 
He held the thunder: but the monarch owes 
His firm stability to what he scorns, 
More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above. 
The law, by which all creatures else are bound, 
Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives 
No mean advantage from a kindred cause. 
From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
When Custom bids, but no refreshment find. 
For none they need ; the langruid eye, the cheek 
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk. 
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul. 
Reproach their owner with that love of rest. 
To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 
Not such the alert and active. Measure life 
By its true worth, the comforts it alxbrds. 



THE SOFA. 235 

And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
Good health, and its associate in the most, 
Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake. 
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs; 
E'en age itself seeras privileged in them 
With clear exemption from its own defects. 
A sparkling eye beneath a WT-inkled front 
The veteran shews, and gracing a giay beard 
With youthful smiles, descends towards the grave 
Sprightly, and old almost without decay. 

Like a C05 maiden. Ease, when courted most, 
Farthest retires — an idol, at whose shrine 
Who oftenest sacrifice are favour'd least. 
The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws. 
Is Nature's dictate. Strange ! there shall be found 
Who, self-impi-ison'd in their proud saloons,. 
Renounce the odours of the open field 
For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
Who, satisfied with only pencill'd scenes. 
Prefer to the performance of a God 
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand I 
Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art ; 
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire. 
None more admires, the painter's magic skill, 
Who shews me that which I shall never see. 
Conveys a distant country into mine. 
And throws Italian light on English walls: 
But imitative strokes can do no more 
Than please the eye— sweet Nature's, every sense- 
The air salubrious of her lofty hills. 
The cheering- fragrance of her dewy vales. 
And music of her woods — no works of man 
May rival these, these all bespeak a power 
Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast ; 
'Tis free to all — 'tis every day renew'd ; 
Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 
He does not scorn it, who imprison'd long 
In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank 
And clammy, of his dark abode have bredj 



236 THE Task. 

Escapes at last to libert> and light : 
His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue ; 
His eye relumines its extingiiish'd fires : 
He walks, he leaps, he runs — is wing'd with joy, 
And riots in the sweets of every breeze. 
He does not scorn it, who has long- endured 
A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed 
With acrid salts : his very heart athirst 
To gaze at Nature in her green array, 
Upon the ship's tall side he stands possess'd 
With visions prompted by intense desire : 
Fair fields appear below, such as he left 
Far distant, such as he would die to find — 
He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 
The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns 
The lowering- eye, tlie petulance, the frown. 
And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, 
And mar the face of beauty, when no cause 
For such immeasurable woe appears, 
These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 
Sweet smiles, arwl bloom less transient than Inn- <.\ 
It is the constant revolution, stale 
And tasteless of the same repeated joys, 
That palls and satiates, and makes languid life 
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down. 
Health sufters, and the spirits ebb, the heart 
Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 
Is famish'd — finds no music in the song, 
Nor smartness in the jest; and wonders why. 
Yet thousands still desire to journey on. 
Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. 
The paralytic, who can hold her cards. 
But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 
To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 
Her mingled suits and sequences ; and sits, 
Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
Others are dragg'd into the crowded room 
Between supporters ; and once seated, sit, 
Through downright inability to rise. 
Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 



THE SOFA. 237 

These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these 
Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he. 
That overhanjjs a torrent, to a twig. 
They love it, and yet loathe it ; fear to die. 
Yet scorn the pui-poses for which they live. 
Then wherefore not renounce them'? No- -the dread 
The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds 
Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame. 
And their inveterate habits, all forbid. ' 

Whom call we gay? That honour has been long 
The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
The innocent are gay — the lark is gay, 
That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 
Of dayspring overshoot his humble nes»,. 
The peasant too, a witness of his song. 
Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
But save me from the gaiety of those 
Whose head-aches nail them to a noonday-bed ; 
And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes 
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
For property sti-ipp'd off by cruel chance ; 
From gaiety, that fills the bones Avith pain, 
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe. 

The earth was made so various, that the mind 
Of desultory man, studious of change. 
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. 
Prospects, however lovely, may be seen 
Till half their beauties fade ; the weary sight. 
Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off 
Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
Then snug enclosures in the shelter'd vale. 
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye. 
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile. 
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, 
That such short absence may endear it more. 
Then forest, or the savage rock, may please. 
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts 
Above the reach of man. His hoary head, 
Conspicuous many a league, the mariner 
Bound homeward, and in hope already there. 
Greets with three cheers exiilting. At his waist, 



238 TH^. TA.SK. 

A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shews. 

And at his feet the baffled billows die. 

The common, overgrown with fern, and rough 

With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deform 'd. 

And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom, 

And decks itself with ornaments of gold, 

Yields no unpleasing ramble ; there the turf 

Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs 

And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 

With luxury of unexpected sweets. 

There often wanders one, whom better days 
Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 
With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound . 
A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
Her fancy follow'd him through foaming wa'. ; ^ 
To distant shores ; and she would sit and wcp}i 
At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too. 
Delusive most where warmest wishes are, 
Would oft anticipate his glad return. 
And dieam of transports she was not to know. 
She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 
And never smiled again ! and now she roams 
The dreary waste; there spends the livelong dii\. 
And there, unless when charity forbids. 
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, 
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 
.More tatter'd still ; and both but ill conceal 
A bosom heaved with nerer-ceasing sighs. 
She begs an idle pin of all she meets. 
And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food. 
Though press'd with hunger oft, or comeller clothes 
Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is craz'd 

I see a column of slow-rising smoke 
O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. 
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 
Between two poles upon a stick transverse. 
Receives the morsel — ^flesh obscene of dog. 
Or vei-min, or at best of cock purloin'd 
From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race! 
They pick their fuel out of every hedge. 



THE SOFA. 239 

Which, kindled with dry leaves, jtist saves imquench'd 
The spark, of life. The sportive wind blows wide 
Their fluttering- rags, and shews a tawny skin. 
The vellum of the pedigree they claim. 
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 
To conjure clean away the gold they touch 
Conveying worthless dross into its place ; 
Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal » 
Strange ! tliat a creature rational, and cast 
In human mould, should brutalize by choice 
His nature ; and, though capable of arts. 
By whicli the world might profit, and himself 
Self-banish'd from society, prefer 
Such squalid sloth to honourable toil I 
Yet, even these, though, feigning sickness, oft 
They swathe the forehead, drag tlie limping limb. 
And vex their flesh with artificial sores. 
Can change their whine into a mirthful note 
When safe occasion offers ; and with dance. 
And music of the bladder and the hag. 
Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. 
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy 
The houseless rovers of thr sylvan world : 
And breathing wholesome air, and wandering much. 
Need other physic none to hebl the eflects 
Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. 

Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd 
By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure, 
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside 
His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, 
The manners and the arts of civil life. 
His wants indeed are many ; but supply 
Is obvious, placed within the easy reach 
Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. 
Here Virtue thrives as in her proper soil ; 
Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns. 
And terrible to sight, as when she springs 
(1/ e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote 
And barbarous climes, where violence prevailB, 
And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind. 
By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd. 
And all her fruits bv radiant truth matured. 



240 THE TASK. 

War and the chase engross the savage whole. 
War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant 
The envied tenants of some happier spot : 
The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
His hard condition with severe constraint 
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he l<;arng 
Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 
Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. 
Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, 
And thus the rangers of the western world. 
Where it advances far into the deep. 
Towards the antarctic. E en the favoured isle* 
So lately found, although the constant sun 
Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, 
Can boast but little virtue ; and, inert 
Through plenty, lose in morals, what they gain 
In manners — victims of luxurious ease. 
These therefore I can pity, placed remote 
From all that science traces, art invents. 
Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed 
In boundless oceans, never to be pass'd 
By navigators uninform'd as they, 
Or iJBough'd perhaps by British bark again. 

But far beyond the rest, and with most cause ] 

Thee, gentle savage !* whom no love of thee j 

Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, I 

Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw 

Forth from thy native bowers, to shew tliee here I 

With what superior skill we can abuse 
The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 
The dream is past; and thou hast fouiul again 
Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, [founo 
And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou 
Their former charms ? And, having seen our state, 
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp 
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports. 
And heard our music ; are thy simple friends. 
Thy simple fair, and all thy plain delights. 
As dear to thee as once 1 And have thy joys 
Lost nothing by comparison with ours 1 
* Ortal. 



THE SOFA. 241 

Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude 

And ignorant, except of outward show) 

I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 

And spiritless, as never to regTet 

Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 

Methinks I see thee strayinjj on the beach. 

And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot. 

If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 

I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 

A patriot's for his country : thou art sad 

At thoxight of her forlorn and abject state, 

From whicli no power of thine can raise her np 

Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, 

Perhaps en-s little, when she paints thee thus. 

She tells me too, that duly every mom 

Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eye 

Exploring far and wide the watery waste 

For sight of ship from England. Every speck 

Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale 

With conflict of contending hopes and fears. 

But conies at last the dull and dusky eve. 

And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared 

To dream all night of what the day denied. 

Alas ! expect it not. We found no bait 

To tempt us in thy country. Doing good. 

Disinterested good, is not otir trade. 

We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; 

And must be bribed to compass earth again 

By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 

But though true worth and virtue in the mild 
And genial soil of cultivated life 
Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there* 
Yet not in cities oft : in proud, and gay, 
And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, 
As to a common and most noisome sewer. 
The dregs and feculence of evei^ land. 
In cities foul example on most minds 
Begets its likeness. Bank abundance breedi, 
In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust. 
And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. 
In cities vice is hidden with most ease. 
Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught 



SIS THE TASK. 

By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 

Beyond the achievement of successful ilig^ht. 

I do confess them nurseries of the arts. 

In which they flom-ish most ; where, in the heamti 

Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 

Of public note, they reach their perfect size. 

Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd 

The fairest capital of all the world. 

By riot and incontinence the worst. 

There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 

A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees 

All her reflected features. Bacon there 

Gives more than female beauty to a stone, 

And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 

Nor does the chisel occupy alone 

The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; 

Each province of her art her equal care. 

With nice incision of her guided steel 

She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 

So sterile with Avhat charms soe'er she will, 

The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. 

Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, 

With which she gazes at yon burning disk 

Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots? 

In London. Where her implements exact. 

With which she calculates, computes, and scans. 

All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 

Measures an atom, and now girds a world ? 

In Jjondon. Where has commerce such a mart. 

So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd and so supplied. 

As London — opulent, enlarged, and still 

Increasing, London ? Babylon of old 

Not more the glory of the eaith than she, 

A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. 

She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two. 
That so much beauty would do well to purge ; 
And shew this queen of cities, that so fair 
May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not wiae. 
It is not seemly, nor of good report. 
That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt 
To avenge than to prevent the breach of law : 
That she is rigid in denouncing death 



THE SOFA. 248 

On petty robbers, and indulges life 
And liberty, and oft-times honour too. 
To peculators of the public gold : 
That thieves at home must hang ; but he, that putd 
Into his overgorged and bloated purse 
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good. 
That, through profane and infi'del contempt 
Of holy writ, she has presumed to annul 
And abrogate, as roundly as she may. 
The total ordinance and will of God ; 
Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 
And centering all authority in modes 
And customs of her own, till sabbath rites 
Have dwindled into unrespected forms. 
And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced. 

God made the country, and man made the town. 
What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
That life holds out to all, should most abound 
And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves ? 
Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about 
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
Your element ; there only can ye shine ; 
There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
Our groves were planted to console at noon 
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
The moon-beam, sliding softly in between 
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, 
Birds warbling all the music. We can spare 
The splendour of your lamps ; they but eclipse 
Out softer satellite. Your songs confound 
Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs 
Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
There is a public mischief in your mirth ; 
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours. 
Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan. 
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done> 
Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
A mutilated structure, scon to fall. 



244 



BOOK " 

Reflections suggested by the conclusi-..i of the former book.— 
Peace among the nations rec-ommended, on tl'.e ground oi their 
common fellowship in sorrow. — Prodigies enumenited. — Sici- 
iian earthqualies. — Man rendered obnoxious to these calami- 
ties by sin. — God the agent in them. — The philosophy that 
stops at secondary causes reproved. — Our own late miscar- 
riages accounted for. — Satirical notice taken of our trips to 
Fontainebleau. — But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine 
of reformation. — The Reverend Advertiser of engraved ser 
mons, — Petit-maitre parson. — The good preachtr.— Picture of 
a theatrical clerical coxcomb.— Story-tellers and jt'sters in the 
pulpit reproved. — Apostrophe to popular applause. — Retailers 
of ancient philosophy expostulated with. — Sum of the whole 
matter.— Effect* ot sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity.— 
Their folly and extravagance. — The mischiefs of profusion.— 
Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as to it« 
principal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities. 

THE TIME-PIECE. 

O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade. 

Where nimoiir of oppression and deceit. 

Of unsuccessful or successful war. 

Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd. 

My soul is sick with eA'ery day's report 

Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. 

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ; 

It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 

Of brotherhood is severed as the flax. 

That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 

He finds his fellow guilty — of a .skin 

Not colour'd like his own ; and having power 

To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 

I>ooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 

Lands interse-cted by a naiTOW frith 

Abhor each other. Mountains intei-posed 

Make enemies of nations, who had else. 

Like kindred drops, been mingled into one. 

Thus man devotes his brother and destroys; 

And worse than all, and most to be deplored. 

As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 

Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 



THE TIME-PIECE. 245 

With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart 
Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast : 
Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this, 
And having human feelings, does not blush. 
And hang his head, to think himself a man ? 
I would not have a slave to till my ground. 
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep. 
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
That sinews bouyiht and sold have ever eara'd. 
No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
Just estimation prized above all price, 
I had much rather be myself the slave, -• 

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
We have no slaves at home — then why abroad 1 
And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave 
ITiat parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free ; 
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 
And let it circulate through every vein 
Of all your empire ; that, where Britain s power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 
Sure there is need of social intercourse, 
Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid. 
Between the nations in a world, that seems 
To toll the death-bell of its own decease, 
And by the voice of all its elements 
To preach the general doom.* When were the windi 
Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ? 
When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap 
Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry i 
Fires from beneath, and meteors t from above. 
Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd, 
Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and the old 
And crazy earth has had her shaking fits 
More frequent, and forgone her usual rest. 
Is it a time to wrani;le, when the props 
And pillar:: of our planet seem to fail, 

* Allrding' to the calamitiRs in Jamaica, 
t Aug-iist 18, 1783. 



246 THE TASK. 

And Nature with a dim and sickly eye* 
To wait the close of all ? But grant her end 
More distant, and that propliecy demands 
A long-er respite, unaccomplish'd yet ; 
Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
Displeasure in His breast, who smites the earth 
Or heals it, makes it langoiish or rejoice. 
And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve 
And stand exposed by common peccancy 
To what no few have felt, there should be peace, 
And brethren in calamity should love. 
Alaa^for Sicily! rude fragments now 
Lie Ecatter'd, where the shapely column stood. 
Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
The voice of singing and the sprightl y chord 
Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show, 
SuH'er a syncope and solemn pause ; 
While God performs upon the trembling stage 
Of his own works his dreadful part alone. 
How does the earth receive him i — with what signs 
Of gratulation and delight her king f 
Tours she not all her choicest fruits abroad. 
Her sweetest Howers, her aromatic gums, 
Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ? 
Slie quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb, 
Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. 
The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, 
For he has touch 'd them. From the extremest point 
Of elevation down into the abyss 
His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. 
The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise. 
The rivers die into offensive pools, 
Ajid, charged wi&h putrid verdure, breathe a gross 
And mortal nuisance into all the air. 
What solid was, by transformation strange. 
Grows lluid ; and the fix'd and rooted earth, 
Tormented into billows, heaves and swells. 
Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl 
Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 

• Alluding to the fog, that covered uoth Europe and A«ta 
during tlie whole summer of 1783. 



THE TIME-PIECE. 24T 

The turoult and the overthrow, the pangs 
Ai»ii agonies of human and of brute 
Multitudes, fugitive on every side, 
And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene 
Migrates uplifted ; and, with all its soil 
Alighting in far distant fields, finds out 
A new possessor, and survives the change. 
Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought 
To an enormous and o'erbearing height, 
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice. 
Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore 
Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, 
Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, 
Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng 
That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, 
Look'd to the sea for safety ? They are gone. 
Gone with the refluent wave into the deep — 
A prince with half his people ! Ancient towers. 
And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 
Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume 
Life in the unproductive shades of death, 
B'all prone : the pale inhabitants come forth^ 
And, happy in their unforeseen release 
From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy 
The terrors of the day, that sets them free. 
Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast 
Freedom] whom they that lose thee so regret. 
That e'en a judgment, making way for thee. 
Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake 1 

Such evils Sin hath wrought ; and such a flame 
Kindled in heaven, that it bums down to earth. 
And in the furious inquest that it makes 
On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. 
The very elements, though each be meant 
The minister of man, to serve his wants. 
Conspire against him. With his breath he draw* 
A plague into his blood ; and cannot use 
Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
Storms rise to o'erwhelm him ; or, if stormy vrinda 
Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise. 
And, needing none assistance o-f the storm, 
Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 



248 THE TASK. 

The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, 
Or make his bouse his grave : i)or so content. 
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, 
And drov/n liim in her dry and dusty gTilfs. 
What then I — were they the wicked above all. 
And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle 
Moved not, while theirs was rock'd,like a light skiff 
The sport of every wave i No : none are clear. 
And none than we more guilty. But, where all 
Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 
Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark: 
May punish, if he please, the less, to warn 
The more malignant. If he spared not them. 
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape, 
Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee ! 

Happy the man who sees a God employ'd 
In all the good and ill that chequer life I 
Resolving all events, with their eflects 
And manifold results, into the will 
And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
The least of our concerns (since from the least 
The greatest oft originate) ; could chance 
Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
One lawless particle to thwart his plan ; 
Tl»en God might be surprised, and unforeseen 
Contingence might alai-m him, and disturb 
The smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed 
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; 
And, having found his instrument, forgets, 
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still. 
Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
His hot displeasure against foolish men. 
That live an atheist life : involves the heavens 
In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, 
And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague 
Kindle a f'.ery boil upon the skin. 
And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 
He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 
Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips. 
And taints the golden e£.r. He springs his mines 



THE TIME-PIECE. 249 

And desolates a nation at a blast. 
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells 
Of homogeneal and discordant springs 
And principles ; of causes how they work 
By necessary laws their sure effects; 
Of action and reaction : he has found 
The source of the disease, that nature feels. 
And bids the world take heart, and banish fear. 
Thou fool ! Will thy discovery of the cause 
Suspend the effect, or heal it? Has not God 
Still wrought by means since first he made the world 1 
And did he not of old employ his means 
To drown it 1 What is his creation less 
Than a capacious reservoir of means 
Fonn'd for his use, and ready at his will? 
Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve ; ask of Him, 
Or ask of whomsoever he has taught; 
And leara, though late, the genuine cause of all. 
England, with all thy faults, 1 love thee still — 
My country ! and, while yet a nook is left, 
Where English minds and manners may be found. 
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime 
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, 
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies. 
And fields without a flower, for warmer Franoe 
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's gToves 
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. 
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 
As any thunderer there. And 1 can feel 
Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain 
Frown at effeminates, whose A'ery looks 
Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 
How, in the name of soldiership and sense. 
Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er 
With odours, and as profligate as sweet; 
Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, 
L2 



250 THE TASK. 

And love when they should fight ; when such as these 

Presume to lay their hands upon the ark 

Of her magnificent and awful cause ? 

Time was when it was praise and boast enough 

In every ctime, and travel where we might. 

That we were born her children. Praise enough 

To fill the ambition cf a private man. 

That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue. 

And Wolfe's great name couipatiiot with his own. 

Farewell those honours, and farewell with them 

The hope of such hereafter ! they have fallen 

Each in his field of glory ; one in arms. 

And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap 

Of smiling Victory that moment won. 

And Chatham heart-sick of his counti^y's shame I 

They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still 

Consulting- England's happiness at home, 

Secured it by an unforgiving frown, 

If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought. 

Put so much of his heart into his act. 

That his example had a magnet's force. 

And all were swift to follow whom all loved. 

Those suns are set. O rise some other such ! 

Or all that we have left is empty talk 

Of old achievements, and despair of new. 

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers lloat 
Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, 
That no rude savour maritime invade 
The nose of nice nobility! breathe soft 
Ye clarionets, and softer still ye flutes ; 
That ■winds and waters, lull'd by magic sounds. 
May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore 1 
True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
True ; we may thank the perfidy of France, 
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown. 
With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state I 
A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
Forgets in peace the injuries of war, 
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. 
And, shamed as we have been, to the very beard 



THE TIME-PIECE. 261 

Braved and defied, and in our ovna sea proved 
Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
Ensured us mastery there, we yet retain 
Some small pre-eminence ; we justly Loast 
At least superior jockeyShip, and claim 
The honours of the turf as all our own ! 
Go, then, well woi-tliy of the praise ye seek, 
And she^.' tl.a shame ye niiiiht conceal at home, 
In foreign eyes ! — be gTooms and win the plate, 
Where once your nobler fatheis won a c^ow^l l- 
'Tis generous to communicate your skill 
To those that need it. Folly is soon loarn'd : 
Aiul under such preceptors who can fail ? 

There is a pleasure in poetic pains, 
Which only poets know. The shifts and turns 
The expedients and inventions multiform, 
To wliich the mind resorts, in chase of tei-ms 
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win — 
To arrest the fleeting images, tliat fill 
The min-or of the mind, and liold them fast. 
And force them sit, till he has pencill'd off 
A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; 
Then to dispose liis copies with such art. 
That each may find its most propitious light, 
And shine by situation, hardly less 
Than by the labour and the skill it cost ; 
Are occupaticms of the poet's mind 
So pleasing, and that steal away the thought 
With such address from themes of sad import, 
That, lost in his own musings, happy man ! 
He feels the anxieties of life, denied 
Their wonted entertainment, all retire. 
Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such. 
Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 
Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 
Aware of nothing arduous in a task 
They never undertook, they little note 
His dangers or escapes, and haply find 
Their least amusement where he found the m08t. 
But is amusement all ? Studious of song. 
And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 
I would not trifle merely, though the world 



252 THE TASK. 

Be loudest in their praise, who do no more. 
Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay 1 
It may correct a foible, may chastise 
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress. 
Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch : 
Bu*: where are its sublimer trophies found? 
What vice has it subdued 1 whose heart rcclaim'd 
By rig;our, or whom laugh'd into reform? 
Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed : 
Lau-h'd at he laughs again ; and striclcen hard. 
Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, 
J'hat fear no discipline of human hands. 

The pulpit, therefore (and I name it, fiU'd 
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
With what intent I touch that holy thing)— 
'Ihe pulpit (when the satirist has at last, 
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school, 
Spent all his force and made no proselyte) — 
i say the pulpit (in the sober use 
Of its legitimate, peculiar powers) 
M u^it stand acknov/ledged, while the world shall stand, 
The most important and effectual guard, 
Support and ornament of Virtue's cause. 
There stands the messenger of truth : there standu 
The le_ate of the skies! — His theme divine, 
His office sacred, his credentials clear. 
By him the violated law speaks out 
Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet 
As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace 
He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak, 
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart. 
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete 
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms 
Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule 
Of holy discipline, to glorious war, 
The sacramental hosts of God's elect ! 
Are all such teachers? — would to Heaven all were! 
But hark — the doctor's voice ! — fast wedged betweeii 
Two empirics he stands, and with swollen cheeks 
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
Than all invective is his bold harangue, 
While through that public organ of report 



THE TIMEPIECE. 253 

He haUs the clergy ; and, defying shame, 
Annoiuices to the world his own and theirs I 
He teaches those to read whom schools dismiss* 
And colleges, untaught ; sells accent, tone. 
And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer 
The adagio and andante it demands. 
He grinds divinity of other days 
Down into modem use ; transforms old print 
To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
Of gallery critics by a thousand arts. 
Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware ? 
O, name it not in Gath .'—it cannot be. 
That grave and leanied clerks should need such aid. 
He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll. 
Assuming thus a rank unknown before- 
Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church f 
I venerate the man, whose heart is warm. 
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, 
Coineident, exhibit lucid proof 
That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
To such I render more than mere respect. 
Whose actions say, that they respect themselves. 
But loose in morals, and in manners vain. 
In conversation frivolous, in dress 
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 
Frequent in park with lady at his side. 
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
-But rare at home, and never at his books. 
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card; 
Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor ; 
Ambitious of prefei-ment for its gold. 
And, well prepared, by ignorance and sloth, 
By infidelity and love of world. 
To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; 
From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, 
Preserve the church 1 and lay not careless hand* 
On skulls, that cannot teach, and will not learn. 

Would I describe n preacher, such as Paul, 
Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
I aul should himself direct me. I would trace 



254 THE TASK. 

His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
I would express him simple grave, sincere ; 
In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste^ 
And natural in gesture ; much impress'd 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. 
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too ; affectionate in look, 
And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
Behold the picture ! — Is it like ? — Like whom? 
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip. 
And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; 
Cry — hem ! and reading, what they never wrote. 
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work. 
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! 

In man or woman, but far most in man. 
And most of all in man that ministei'S 
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
All atiectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
Object of ray implacable disg\ist. 
What ! — will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
A silly fond conceit of his fair form, 
And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
And pretty face, in presence of his God 1 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes. 
As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes. 
When I am hungry for the bread of life 1 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and, instead of truth, 
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
Therefore avaunt all attitude, and stare, 
And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
I seek divine simplicity in him. 
Who handles things divine ; and all besides. 
Though leam'd with labour, and though much ad* 
By curious eyes and judgments ill-inform'd, [mired 
To me is odious as the nasal twang 
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, 
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 



THE TIME-PIECE. 255 

Some decent in demeanour while they preach. 

That task perforxn'd, relapse into themselves ; 

And having spoken wisely, at the close 

Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye. 

Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not! 

Forth comes the pocket min'or. — First we stroke 

An eyebrow ; next compose a straggling lock ; 

Then, with an air most gracefully perform'd. 

Fall back into our seat, extend an arm. 

And lay it at its ease with gentle care. 

With handkerchief in hand depending low : 

The better hand more busy gives the nose 

Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye 

With opera-glass, to watch the moving scene. 

And recognise the slow-retiring fair. — 

Now this is fulsome, and offends me more 

Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 

And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 

May be indifferent to her house of clay. 

And slight the hovel as beneath her care ; 

But how a body so fantastic, trim. 

And quaint in its deportment and attire, 

Can lodge a heavenly mind — demands a doubt. 

He that negociates between God and man. 
As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
Of judg^ment and of mercy, should beware 
Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful 
To court a grin, when you should woo a soul ; 
To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
Pathetic exhortation ; and to address 
The skittish fancy with facetious tales. 
When sent with God's commission to the heart 1 
So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
Or merry turn in all he ever wrote. 
And I consent you take it for your text. 
Your only one, till sides and benches fail. 
No : he was serious in a serious cause, 
And understood too well the weighty terms 
That he had taken in charge. He would not stoi^ 
To conquer those by jocular exploits, 
Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 

O popular applause! what heart of man 



256 THE TASK. 

is proof against thy sweet-seducing charms t 

The wisest and the best feel urgent need 

Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 

But swell'd into a gust — who then, alas ! 

With all his canvass set, and inexpert, 

And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power? 

Praise from the shrivell'd lips of toothless, bald 

Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 

And craving Poverty, and in the bow 

Respectful of the smutch'd artificer. 

Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb 

The bias of the purpose. How much more, 

Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite. 

In language soft as Adoration breathes I 

Ah, spare your idol ! think him human still. 

Charms he may have, but he has frailties too I 

Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. 

All truth is from the sempiternal source 

Of light divine. But Egvpt, Greece, and Rome 

Drew from the stream below. More favour'd we 

Drink, when we choose it, at the fuuntain-liead. 

To them it flow'd much mingled and defiled 

With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams 

Illusive of philosophy, so call'd. 

But falsely. Sages after sages strove 

In vain to filter off a crystal draught 

Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 

The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred 

Intoxication and delirium wild. 

In vain they push'd inquirj- to the birth 

Andspring-time of the world ; ask'd, Whence is man t 

Why form'd at all ? and wherefore as he is 1 

Where must he find his Maker? with what rites 

Adore him ? Will he hear, accept, and bless 1 

Or does lie sit regardless of his works ? 

Has man within him an immortal seed? 

Or does the tomb take all ? If he survive 

His ashes, where? and in what weal or woe? 

Knots worthy of solution, which alone 

A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague, 

And all at random, fabulous and dark, 

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life. 



THE TIME PIECE. 257 

Defective and imsanction'd, proved too weak 
To bind the roving appetite, and lead 
Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 
'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts. 
Explains all mysteries, except her own, 
And so illuminates the path of life, 
That fools discover it, and stray no more. 
Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir. 
My man of morals, nurtured in the shades 
. Of Academus — is this false or true ? 
Is Clirist the abler teacher, or the schools? 
If Christ, then why resort at every turn 
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short 
Of man's occasions, when in him reside 
Grace, knowledge, comfort — an unfathom'd store i 
How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a text, 
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd ! 
Men that, if now alive, would sit content 
And humble learners of a Saviour's worth. 
Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth. 
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too I 

And thus it is. — The jiastor, either vain 
By nature, or by flattery made so, taught 
To gaze at his o\vt\ splendour, and to exalt 
Absurdly, not his office, but himself; 
Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn ; 
Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach ; 
Pei-vei-ting often by the stress of lewd 
And loose example, whom he shotUd instruct; 
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace. 
The noblest function, and discredits much 
The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 
For ghostly counsel, if it either faU 
Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
^Vith show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
Of some sincerity on the giver's part ; 
t)r be dishonour'd in the exterior form 
And mode of its conveyance by such tricks 
As move deiision, or by foppish airs 
And histrionic mummery, that let down 
The pulpit to the level of the stage ; 
Drops from the lips a disregarded thing 



258 THE TASK. 

The weak perhaps are moved, but are not taught 
While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see. 
A relaxation of religion's hold 
Upon the roving and untutor'd heart 
Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience suapp'd 
The laity run wild. — B iit do they now 1 
Note their extravagance, and be convinced. 

As nations, ignorant of God, contrive 
A wooden one ; so we, no longer taught 
By monitors that mother-church supplies, 
Now make our own. Posterity will ask 
(If e'er posterity see verse of mine) 
Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence. 
What was a monitor in George's days 1 
My very gentle reader, yet unborn, 
Of whom I needs must augur better things. 
Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world 
Productive only of a race like ours, 
A monitor is wood— plank shaven thin. 
We wear it at our backs. Th«sre, closely braced 
And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
The prominent and most unsightly bones, 
And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use 
Sovereign and most effectual to secure 
A form, not now gymnastic as of yore. 
From rickets and distortion, else our lot. 
But thus admonish'd, we can walk erect — 
One proof at least of manhood ! while the friend 
Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 
Our habits, costlier than LucuUus wore. 
And by caprice as multiplied as his. 
Just please us while the fashion is at full, 
But change with every moon. The sycophant. 
Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date ; 
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye j 
Finds one ill made, another obsolete. 
This fits not nicely, that is iU conceived ; 
And, making prize of all that he condemnB^ 
With otir expenditure defrays his own. 
Variety's the very spice of life. 
That gives it ail its flavour. We have ruu 



THE TIME-PIECE. 259 

Through every change, that Fancy, at the loom 

Exhausted, has had genius to supply ; 

And, studious of mutation still, discard 

A real elegance, a little used. 

For monstrous novelty, and sti-ange disguise. 

We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 

And comfoits cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, 

And keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires ; 

And introduces hunger, frost, and woe. 

Where peace and hospitality might reign. 

What man that lives, and that knows how to live, 

Woiild fail to exhibit at the public shows 

A form as splendid as the proudest there. 

Though appetite raise outcries at the cost ? 

A man o' the town dines late, but soon enough. 

With reasonable forecast and dispatch, 

To ensure a side-box station at half-price. 

You think perhaps, so delicate his dress. 

His daily fare as delicate. Alas ! 

He picks clean teeth, and busy as he seems 

With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet ! 

The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws 

With magic wand. So potent is the spell. 

That none, decoy'd into that fatal ring. 

Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape* 

There we grow early gray, but never wise 

There form connexions, but acquire no fri 

Solicit pleasure hopeless of success ; 

Waste youth in occupations only fit 

For second childhood, and devote old ag' 

To sports, which only childhood could e *e. 

There they are happiest, who dissemble best 

Their weai-iness; and they the most polite, 

Who squander time and treasure with a smile. 

Though at their own destruction. She that asks 

Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all. 

And hates their coming. They (what can they less 1 

Make just reprisals ; and, with cringe and shrug. 

And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. 

All catch tbe frenzy, downward from her grace. 

Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies 

And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, 



260 THE TASK. 

To her, who, frugal only that her thrift 

May feed excesses she can ill afford, 

Is hackney'd home unlackey'd ; who, in haste 

Alighting, turns the key in her own dcor. 

And, at the watchman's lantern bon-owing: light, 

Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 

Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wiveSj 

On Fortune's velvet altar offering- up 

Theii* last poor pittance — Fortune, most severe 

Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 

Than all, that held their routs in Juno's heaven. — 

So fare we in this prison-house the World ; 

And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see 

So many maniacs dancing in their chains. 

They gaze upon the links that hold them fast, 

With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot. 

Then shake them in despair, and dance again I 

Now basket up the family of plagues. 
That waste oiu* vitals ; peculation, sale 
Of honour, peijury, corniption, frauds 
By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 
By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen 
As the necessities their authors feel ; 
Then cast them, closely bundled, every bra* 
At the right door. Profusioji is the sire. 
Profusion unrcstrain'd, with all that's base 
In character, has litter'd all the land. 
And bred, within the memory of no few, 
A priesthood, such as Baal's was of old, 
A people, such as never was till now. 
It is a hungi-y vice : — it eats up all 
That gives society' its beauty, strength. 
Convenience, and security, and use : 
Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws 
Can seize the slippery prey : iinties the knot 
Of union, and converts the sacred band, 
That holds mankind together, to a scourgCr 
Profusion, deluging a state with lusts 
Of grossest narare and of worst effects. 
Prepares it for its ruin : hardens, blinds. 
And warps the consciences of public men. 



THE TIME-PIECE. 261 

Till they can laugh at Virtue ; mock the fools 
That trust them ; and in the end disclose a face 
That would have shoek'd Credulity herself, 
Unraask'd, Touchsafing this their sole excuse- 
Since all alike are selfish, why not they? 
This does Profusion, and the accursed cause 
Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. 
In colleges and halls in ancient days, 
When learning, virtue, piety, and truth 
Were precious, and inculcated with care, 
There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head. 
Not 3et by time completely silver 'd o'er, 
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, 
But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. 
His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
Play'd on his lips ; and in his speech was heard 
Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 
The occupation dearest to his heart 
Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 
The head of modest and ingenuous worth, 
That blush'd at his own praise ; and press the youth 
Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew 
Beneath his care, a thriving Tigorous plant ; 
The mind was well inform'd, the passions held 
Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, 
That one among so many overleap'd 
The limits of control, his gentle eye 
Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke : 
His frown was full of terror, and his voice 
Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe, 
As left him not, till penitence had v/on 
Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. 
But Discipline, a faithful servant long. 
Declined at length into the vale of years : 
.4 palsy struck his arm ; his sparkling eye 
Was quench'd in rheums of age ; his voice, unstrung 
Grew tremulous, and moved derision more 
Than reverence in perverse, rebellious youth. 
So colleges and halls neglected much 
Their good old friend ; and Discipline at length, 
O'erlook'd and uncmploy'd, fell sick and died 



262 THE TASK 

Then Study langnish'd. Emulation slept. 

And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene 

Of solemn farce, where Ignorauce in stilts. 

His cap well lined with logic not his own, 

With parrot tongue perfonn'd the scholar's part, 

Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 

Then Compromise had place, and Scrutiny 

Became stone blind; Precedence went in truck. 

And he was competent whose purse was so. 

A dissolution of all bonds ensued : 

The curbs invented for the mulish mouth 

Of headstrong youth were broken ; bars and bolts 

Grew rusty by disuse ; and massy gates 

Forgot their office, opening with a touch ; 

Till gowns at length are found mere masqueradfe. 

The tassell'd cap and the spruce band a jest, 

A mockery of the world I What need of these 

For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure. 

Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oftener seen 

With belted waist and pointers at their heels, 

Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn'd. 

If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot : 

And such expense, as pinches parents blue, 

And mortifies the liberal hand of love, 

Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports 

And vicious pleasures : buys the boy a name. 

That sits a stigma on his father's house. 

And cleaves through life inseparably close 

To him that wears it. What can after games 

Of riper joys, and commerce with the world, 

The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon. 

Add to such erudition, thus acquired, 

Where science and where virtue are profess'd ? 

They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 

His folly, but to spoil bim is a task 

That bids defiance to the united powers 

Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 

Now blame we most the nurslings or the nurse ? 

The children crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd. 

Through want of care ; or her, whose winking eye 

And slumbering osctancy mars the brood 1 

The nurse no doubt. Regardless of her charge. 



THE TIME-PIECE. 263 

She needs herself correction ; needs to learn. 
That it is dangerous sporting -with the world. 
With things so sacred as a nation's trust. 
The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 

All are not such. I had a brother once — 
Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
A man of letters, and of manners too ! 
Of manners sweet as Virtue always wears. 
When gay Good-nature dresses her in smiles. 
He graced a college,* in which order yet 
Was sacred, and was honoui-'d, loved, and wept, 
By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 
Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd 
With such ingredients of good sense, and taste 
Of what is excellent in man ; they thirst 
With such a zeal to he what thay approve, 
That no resti-aints can circumscribe them more 
Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. 
Nor can example hurt them : what they see 
Of vice in others but enhancing more 
The charms of virtue in their just esteem. 
If such escape contagion, and emerge 
Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, 
\nd give the world their talents and themselves. 
Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth 
Exposed their inexperience to the snare. 
And left fnern to an undirected choice. 

See then the quiver broken and decay'd. 
In which are kept our arrows ! Rusting there 
In wild disorder, and unlit for use, 
What wonder if, discharged into the world. 
They shame their shooters with a random flight. 
Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine I 
Well may the church wage unsuccessful war 
With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide 
The undreaded volley with a sword of straw. 
And stands an impvident and fearless mark. 

Have we not track'd the felon home, and found 
His birth-place and his dam ? The country mournfl 
Mourns because every plague, that can infest 
Society, and that saps and worms the base 
• Benet Coll. Cambridge. 



V64 THE TASK. 

Of the edifice, that Policy has raised, 
Swarms in all quarters : meets the eye, the ear; 
And suffocates the breath at every turn. 
Profusion breeds them ; and the cause itself 
Of that calamitous mischie^ has been found" 
Found too, where most otfensive, in the skirts 
Of the robed pedagogue ! Else let the irraign'd 
Stand up unconscious, and rebate the charge. 
So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his ann 
And waved his rod divine, a race obscene, 
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth. 
Polluting Egypt : gardens, fields, and plains 
Were cover'd with the pest; the streets were fiU'd; 
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook ; 
Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped : 
And the land stank — so numerous was the fry 



BOOK III. 

Self-recollection and reproof. — Address to domestic happintss. — 
Some aoconut of myself. — The vanity of many of their pursuits 
who are reputed wise. — Justification o*" my censures. — Divine 
i. lamination necessary to the most expert philosopher. — The 
question, What is truth! answered by other qiiestiom;. — Do- 
mebtic happiness addressed as:ain. — Few lovers of the country. 
— My tame hare. — Occupations of a retired gentleman in his 
garden.— Pruning.— Framing.— Green-houst. - Sowinsr of flower. 
seeds.— The country preferaWe to the town even in winter.— 
Reasons why it is deserted at that season. — Ruinous eflects ol 
ga.nina:, and of expensive improvement.— Book concludes with 
aa apostrophe to the metropolis. 

THE GARDEN. 

As one, who long in thickets and in brakes 

Entangled, winds now this w^ay and now that 

His devious course uncertain, seeking home ; 

Or having- long in miry ways been foil'd 

And sore discomfited, from slough to slough 

Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; 

If chance at length he find a greensward smooth 

And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, 

He cherups brisk his ear-erecting steed. 

And winds his way with pleasure and with ea9e> 

So I, designing other themes, and call'd 



THE GARDEN. 265 

Tj adorn the Sofa with eulogium due, 
To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams, 
Have rambled wide : iu country, city, seat 
Of academic fame (howe'er deserved). 
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. 
But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road 
I mean to tread : I feel myself at large. 
Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil, 
If toil await me, or if dangers new. 

Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect 
Most part an empty, ineffectual sound. 
What chance that I, to fame so little known. 
Nor conversant ^vith men or manners much. 
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 
Crack the satiric thong ? 'Twere wiser far 
For me, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes, 
And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose. 
Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vino 
My languid limbs, when, summer sears tlie plains 
Or when rough winter rages, on the soft 
And shelter 'd sofa, while the nitrous air 
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ; 
There undisturb'd by Folly, and apprized 
How great the danger of disturbing her. 
To muse in silence, or, at least, confine 
Remarks, that gall so many, to the few 
My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
Is oft-times proof of wisdom, when the fault 
is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 

Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss 
Of paradise, that hast survived the fall ! 
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure, 
Or tasting long enjoy thee ! too infirm. 
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 
tJnmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect. 
Or temper, sheds into thy crj'stal cup ; 
Thou art the rnu-se of Virtue, in thine arms 
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is. 
Heaven- bom, and destined to the skies again. 
Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored, 
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist 
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the ami 



266 THE TASjK. 

Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support ; 

For tliou art lueek and constant, nating change] 

And finding in the calm of ti-uth-tried love 

Joys that her stonny raptiires never yield. 

Forsaking thee what shipwreck have we made 

O f honour, dignity, and fair renown I 

Till prostitution elbows us aside 

In all our crowded streets ; and senates seem 

Convened for purposes of empire less. 

Than to release the adult'ress from her kond. 

The adult'ress ! what a theme for angry verse 1 

What provocation to the indignant heart. 

That feels for injured love ! but I disdain 

The nauseous task to paint her as she is. 

Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame .' 

No ! let her pass, and charioted along 

In guilty splendour, shake the public ways ; 

The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white. 

And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch. 

Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd. 

And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. 

Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time. 

Not to be pass'd : and she, that had renounced 

Her sex's honour, was renounced herself 

By all that prized it; not for prudery's sake. 

But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 

'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif. 

Desirous to return, and not received : 

But 'twas a wholesome rigour in the main. 

And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care 

That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 

Men too were nice in honour in those days, 

And judged offenders well. Then he that sharp'd. 

And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd, 

Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold 

His country, or was slack when she required 

His every nerve in action and at stretch. 

Paid with the blood that lie had basely spared, 

The price of his default. But now — yes, new 

We are become so candid and so fair, 

So liberal in construction, and so rich 

In Christian chari':y, (good-natured age !) 



THE GARDEN. 267 

That they are safe, sinners of either sex, 
Transgress what laws they may. Well dires3ed,wel1 
Well equipaged, is ticket good enough [bred 

To pass us readily through every door. 
Hypocrisy, detest her as we may 
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet), 
-May claim this merit still- -that she admits 
The worth of what she mimics with such care, 
An^ thus gives vii-tue indirect applause ; 
Biit she has humt her mask, not needed here, 
Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 
And specious semblances have lost their use. 

I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'd 
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew 
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
There was I found by one who had himself 
Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore, 
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
With gentle force soliciting the darts. 
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me liv^. 
Since then, with few associates, in remote 
And silent woods I wander, far from those 
My former partners of the peopled scene ; 
With few associates, and not wishing more. 
Here much I ruminate, as much I may. 
With other views of men and manners now 
Than once, and others of a life to come. 
I see that all are wanderei's, gone astray 
Each in his ov,rn delusions ; they are lost 
In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd 
And never won. Dream after dream ensues ; 
And still they dream that they shall still succeed, 
And still are disappointed. Rings the world 
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, 
And add two thirds of the remaining half. 
And find the total of their hopes and fears 
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as ga-y 
As if created only like the fly. 
That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon. 
To sport their season, and be seen no more. 
The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, 



268 THE TASK. 

And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 

Some write a narrative of wars, and teats 

Of heroes little known ; and call the rant 

A history : descHbe the man, of whom 

His own coevals took but little note. 

And paint his person, character, and views, 

As they had known him fi-om his mother's wonilx 

They disentangle from the puzzled skein. 

In which obscurity has ^vrapp'd them up. 

The threads of politic and slirewd design, * 

That ran through all his pui-poses, and charge 

His mind with meanings that he never had, 

Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore 

The solid earth, and from the strata there 

Ervtract a register, by wliich we learn. 

That he who made it, and reveal'd its date 

To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 

Some, more acute, and more industrious still, 

Contrive creation ; travel Nature up 

To the sharp peak of her sublimest height. 

And tell us whence the stars ; why some are fix'd, 

And planetary some; what gave them lirst 

Rotation, from what fountain tiow'd their light. 

Great contest follows, and much learned dust 

Involves the combatants ; each claimixig truth. 

And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 

The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 

In playing tricks with Nature, giving laws 

To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 

Is 't not a lity now that trickling rheums 

Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight 

Of oracles like these ? Great pity too. 

That having wielded the elements, and built 

A thousand systems, each in his own way. 

They should go o\it in fume, and be forgot? 

Ah I what is life thus spent I and what are they 

But frantic, who thus spend it 1 all for smoke — 

Eternity for bubbles proves at last 

A senseless bargain. When I see such games 

Play'd by the creatures of a Power, who swears 

That he will judge the earth, and call the fool 

To a shai-p reckoning, that has lived in vain ; 



THE GARDEN. 260 

And when I weigh this seeming wisdom w«»ll. 

And prove it in the infallible result 

So hollow and so false — 1 feel my heart 

Dissolve in pity, and account the leam'd. 

If this be learuuig, most of all deceived. 

Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, 

While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. 

Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, 

From reveries so airy, from the toil 

Of dropping buckets into empty wells. 

And growing old in drawing nothing up! 

'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profouna, 
Terribly arch'd, and aquiline his nose, 
And overbuilt with most impending brows, 
'Twere well, could ypu permit the world to live 
As the world pleases : whafs the world to you 1 
Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk 
As sweet as charity from human breasts. 
I think, articulate, I laugh and weep. 
And exercise all functions of a man. 
How then should I and any man that lives 
Be strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein. 
Take of the crimson stream meandering there, 
And catechize it well ; apply thy glass, 
Search it, and prove now if it be not blood 
Congenial with thine own : and, if it be, 
What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose 
Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art. 
To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
One common Maker bound me to the kind ? 
True ; I am no proficient, I confess. 
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift 
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, 
And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ; 
I cannot analyze the air, nor catch 
The parallax of yonder luminous point, 
That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss ; 
Such powers I boast not — ^neither can I rest 
A silent witness of the headlong rage, 
Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, 
Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 

God never meant that man should scale the heavens 



270 THE TASK. 

By strides of human wisdom. In his works, 

Though wondrous, he commands us in his word 

To seek him rather where his mercy shines. 

The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above. 

Views him in all ; asci'ibes to the grand cause 

The grand effect; acknowledges with joy 

His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 

But never yet did philosophic tube. 

That brings the planets home into the eye 

Of Observation, and discovers, else 

Not visible, his family of worlds. 

Discover him that rules them ; such a veil 

Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, 

And dark in things divine. Full often too 

Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 

Of nature, overlooks her author more ; 

From instrumental causes proud to draw 

Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. 

But, if his Word once teach us, shoot a ray 

Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 

Truths undiscem'd but by that holy light. 

Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized 

In the pure fountain of eternal love. 

Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees 

As meant to indicate a God to man, 

Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 

Learning has borne such fruit in other days 

On all her branches : piety has found 

Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 

Has flow'd from lips wet with Castilian dews. 

Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage! 

Sagacious reader of the works of God, 

And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, 

Milton, whose genius had anarelic wings. 

And fed on manual And such thine, in whom 

Oar British Themis gloried with just cause. 

Immortal Hale ; for deep discernment praised, 

And sound integrity, not more than famed 

For sanctity of manners undefiled. 

All fless is grass, and all its glory fades 
Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind ; 
Riches haye wings, and grandeur is a dream- 



THE GARDEN. 271 

The man we celebrate must find a tomb. 
And we that worship him ignoble graTee. 
Nothing is proof against the general curse 
Of vanity, that seizes all below. 
The only amaranthine flower on earth 
Is virtue : the only lasting treasure, trutli. 
But what is truth? 'Twas Pilate's question put 
To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. 
And wherefore 1 Will not God impart his light 
To them that ask it? — Freely — 'tis his joy. 
His glory, and his nature, to impart. 
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere. 
Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
What's that, which brings contempt upon a book, 
And him who writes it, though the style be neat, 
The method clear, and argument exact ? 
That makes a minister in holy things 
The joy of many, and the dread of more. 
His name a theme for praise and for reproach 1 
That, while it gives us worth in God's account, 
Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? 
What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy. 
That learning is too proud to gather up : 
But which the poor, and the despised of all. 
Seek and obtain, and often find unsought l 
Tell me — and I will tell thee what is truth. 

O friendly to the best pursuits of man. 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace. 
Domestic life in rural leisure pass'd 1 
Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweet* , 
Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
To imderstand and choose thee for their own. 
But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss. 
E'en as his first progenitor, and quits. 
Though placed in Paradise (for earth has still 
Some traces of her youthful beauty left). 
Substantial happiness for transient joy. 
Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse 
The growing seeds of msdom ; that suggest, 
By every pleasing image they present. 
Reflections such as meliorate the heart. 
Compose the passions, and exalt the mind ; 



2T2 I'HE TASK. 

Scenes such as ttiese 'tis his supreme delight 

To fill with riot and defile with blood. 

Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 

We persecute, annihilate the tribes, 

That draw the sportsman over hill and dale 

Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares ; 

Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again. 

Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; 

Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, 

Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats ; 

How many self-deluded nymphs and swains, 

Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, 

Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen, 

And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! 

They love the country, and none else who seek 

For their own sake its silence, and its shade. 

Delights which who would leave, that has a heart 

Susceptible of pity, or a mind 

Cultured and capable of sober thought. 

For all the savage din of the swift pack, 

And clamours of the field ? Detested sport, 

Tliat owes its pleasvires to another's pain ; 

That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrielcs 

()i harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued 

With eloquence, that agonies inspire. 

Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ! 

Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find 

A corresponding tone in jovial souls! 

Well — one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare 

Has never heard the sanguinary yell 

Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 

Innocent partner of my peaceful home, 

Whom ten long years' experience of my care 

Has made at last familiar ; she has lost 

Much of her vigilant instinctive dread. 

Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 

Yes — thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand 

That feeds thee ; thou may'st frolic on the floor 

At evening, and at night retire secure 

To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd ; 

For 1 have gain'd thy confidence, have pled s^eJ 

All that is human in me, to protect 



THE GARDEN. 273 

rhine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 
If I survive tiiee, I will dig thy graven 
And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, 
1 knew at least one hare that had a friend.* 

How various his employments whom the world 
Calls idle ; and who justly in return 
Esteems that busy world an idler too I 
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen. 
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home. 
And Nature in her cultivated tiim 
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad — 
Can he want occupation who has these ? 
Will he be idle who has much to enjoy ? 
Me therefore, studious of laborious ease. 
Not slothful, happy to deceive the time. 
Not waste it, and aware that hviman life 
Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 
When He shall call his debtors to account. 
From whom are all our blessings, business finds 
E'en here : while sedulous I seek to improve. 
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, 
The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack 
Too oft, and much impeded in its work 
By causes not to be di'iTilged in vain. 
To its just point — ^the service of mankind. 
He, that attends to his interior self, 
That has a heart, and keeps it ; has a mind 
That hungers, and supplies it ; and who seeka 
A social, not a dissipated life. 
Has business ; feels himself engaged to achieve 
No unimportant, though a silent, task. 
A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
To him that leads it wise, and to be praised ; 
But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies: 
He that is ever occupied in storms. 
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead. 
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 

The morning finds the self-sequester'd man 
Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. 
Whether inclement seasons recommend 

• See the note at the end of thifl >-oluiii«. 

M 2 



274 THE TASK. 

His warm but simple home, where he cnjoya 
With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart* 
Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, 
Which neatly she prepares ; then to his book 
Well chosen, and not sullenly pemsed 
In selfish silence, but imparted oft. 
As ought occurs, that she may smile to hear, 
Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
Or if the garden, with its many cares. 
All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
The welcome call, conscious how much the hand 
Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye. 
Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen. 
Or misapplying his luiskilful strength. 
Nor does he govern only or direct. 
But much performs himself. No works indeed, 
That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil. 
Servile employ ; but such as may amuse. 
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
Proud )f his well-spread walls, he views his trees, 
That meet, no barren interval between, 
With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford ; 
Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel 
These therefore are his ow^n peculiar charge ; 
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots. 
None but his steel approach them. What is weadj 
Distemper'd, or has lost prolific powers, 
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand 
Dooms to the knife ; nor does he spare the soft 
And succulent, that feeds its giant growth. 
But barren at the expense of neighbouring twigs 
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 
With hopeful gems. The rest, no poi-tion left 
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
Large expectation, he disposes neat 
At measured distances, that air and sun. 
Admitted freely, may afford their aid, 
And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
Hence Summer has her riches. Autumn hence* 
And hence e'en Winter fills his wither'd hand 
With blushing fniits, and plenty not his own.* 
• ' Mii-atiirqiin! novrw friirius p\ non sua poma.'— FJr^ 



THE GARDEN. 21 J 

Fair recompense of labour well bestow 'd. 
And wise precaution ; which a clime so rude 
Makes needful still, whose Sprint^ is but the child 
Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
Discovej-ing much the temper of her sire. 
For oft, as if iii her the stream of mild 
Maternal nature had reversed its course, 
She brings her infants I'orth with many smiles ; 
But, once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. 
He therefore, timely warn'd, himself supplies 
Her want of care, screening- and keeping warm 
The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep 
His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft 
As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild, 
The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam. 
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. 

To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, 
So grateful to the palate, and when rare 
So coveted, else base and disesteeni'd- 
Food for the vulgar merely — is an art 
That toiling ages have but just matui-ed. 
And at this moment unessay'd in song. 
Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long biiice 
Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard, 
And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains; 
And in thy numbers Phillips, shines for aye 
The solitary shilling. Pardon, then. 
Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame, 
The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers, 
Presuming an attempt not less sublime, 
Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste 
Of critic appetite, no sordid fare, 
A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 

The stable yields a stercoraceous heap. 
Impregnated with quick fermenting salts. 
And potent to resist the freezing blast : 
For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leat 
Deciduous, when now November dark 
Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 
Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. 
Warily, therefore, and with prudent heed, 
H»; seeks a favour'd spot; that where he buiid*' 



27G THE TASK. 

Rie agglomerated pile bis frame may front 

The sun's meridian disk, and at ttie back 

Enjoy close sbelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge 

Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread 

Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may iiubibe 

The ascending- damps ; then leisurely impose. 

And lightly shaking- it with agile hand 

From the full fork, the saturated straw. 

What longest binds the closest forms secure, 

The shapely side, that as it rises takes, 

By just degrees, an oTerhanging breadth, 

Sheltering the base with its projected eaves: 

The uplifted frame, compact at every joint, 

And overlaid with clear translucent glass. 

He settles next upon the sloping momit. 

Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure 

From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. 

He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 

Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth 

Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth, 

Slow gathering in the midst, through the square tua? 

Diffused, attain the surface : when, behold ! 

A pestilent and most corrosive steam, 

Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast. 

And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, 

Asks egress ; which obtain'd, the overcharged 

And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad, 

In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank ; 

And, purified, rejoices to have lost 

Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 

The irdpatient fervour, which it first conceives 

Within its reeking bosom, threatening death 

To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 

Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft 

The way to glory by miscarriage foul. 

Must prompt him, and admonish how to catclt 

The auspicious moment, when the tcmper'd heat, 

Friendly to A-^ital motion, may afford 

Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. 

The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, 

And glossy, he commits to pots of size 

Diminutive. well-fiU'd with well-preparert 



THE GARDEN. 271 

And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long-, 

And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds. 

These on the Avarm and genial earth, that hides 

The smoking- manure, and o'erspreads it all, 

He places lightly, and, as time subdues 

The rage of fei mentation, plunges deep 

In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. 

Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick, 

And spreading wide their spongy lobes, at tirst 

Pale, wan, and livid; but assum.ing soon. 

If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, 

Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivia gTeen. 

Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, 

Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 

A pimple, that portends a future sprout, 

And interdicts its growth. Then straight succeed 

The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish ; 

Prolific all, and harbingers of more. 

The crowded roots demand enlargement now. 

And transplantation in an ampler space. 

Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply 

Large foliage, o'crshadowing golden flowers, 

Blovim on the summit of the apparent fruit. 

These have their sexes! and when summer shinesj, 

The bee transports the fertilizing meal 

From flower to flower, and e'en the breathing air 

Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. 

Not so when, winter scowls. Assistant Art 

Then acts in Nature's ofiice, brings to pass 

The glad espousals, and ensures the crop. 

Grudge not, ye rich (since Luxury must hare 
His dainties, and the World's more numerous 

half 
Lives by contriving delicates for you) 
Grudge not the cost Ye little knr jp the cares, 
The vigilance, the labour, and the skill. 
That day and night are exercised, and hang 
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 
That ye may garnish your profuse regales 
With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suii». 
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart 
The proce^'?. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam. 



278 'fHE TASK. 

Moisture and drought, mice, wo>.-ms, and swarming 
Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work [flies, 

Dire disappointment, that admits no cure. 
And which no care can obviate. It were long. 
Too long- to tell the expedients and the shifts 
Which he that fights a season so severe 
Devises, while he guards his tender trast ; 
And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise 
Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song 
Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fiaxit 
Of too much labour, worthless when produced 
Who loves a garden lores a green-house too. 
Unconscious of a less propitious clime, 
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug. 
While the winds whistle, and the snows descend. 
The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf 
Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast 
Of Portugal, and western India thei-e. 
The ruddier orange, and the paler lime, 
Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, 
And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 
The amomum there with intermingling llowei's 
And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts 
Her crimson honours ; and the spangled beau, 
Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. 
All plants, of every leaf, that can endure 
The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bitt 
Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 
Levantine regions these ; the Azores send 
Their jessamine, her jessamine remote 
Gaft'raria; foreigners from many lands. 
They form one social shade, as if convened 
By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. 
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pas.i 
But by a master's hand, disposing well 
The gay diversities of leaf and flower, 
Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms. 
And dress the regular yet varied scene. 
Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 
The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still 
Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 
60 once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, 



THE GARDEN. 279 

A noble show ! while Roscius trod the stage ; 
And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he. 
The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose. 
Some note of Nature's music from his lips, 
And covetous of Shatspeare's beauty, seen 
In every flash of his far-beaming eye. 
Nor taste alone and well contrived display 
Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace 
Cf their complete effect. Much yet remains 
Unsung, and many cares are yet behind, 
And more laborious ; cares on which depends 
Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored, 
The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd 
Loses its treastire of salubrious salts, 
And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots 
Close interwoven, where they meet the vase 
Must smooth be shorn away ; the sapless branch 
Must fly before the knife ; the wither'd leaf 
Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor 
Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 
Contagion, and disseminating death. 
Discharge but these kind oflices, (and who 
Would spare, that loves them, otfices like these i) 
Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased. 
The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf, 
Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad 
Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind. 
Ail healthful, are the employs of rural life. 
Reiterated as the wheel of time 
Runs round ; still ending, and beginning still. 
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll, 
That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd appears 
A flowery island, from the dark green lawn 
Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due 
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste- 
Here also graceful mixture of well-match'd 
And sorted hues (each giving each relief, 
And by contrasted beauty shining more) 
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade 
May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home ; 
But elegance, chief grace the garden shews 



280 THE TASK. 

And most attractive, is the fair result 

Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. 

Without it all is Gothic as the scene. 

To which the insipid citizen resorts 

Near yonder heath ; where Industry misspent. 

But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task, 

Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and nioona 

Of close-ramm'd stones has charged th' encumber'd 

And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. [soil, 

He, therefore, who would see his flowers disposed 

Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 

The beds the trusted ti'easure of their seeds, 

Forecasts the future whole ; that when the scene 

Shall break into his preconceived display 

Each for itself, and all as with one voice 

Conspiring', may attest his bright design. 

Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd 

His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 

Few self-supported flowers endiire the wind 

Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 

Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied. 

Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, 

For interest-sake, the living to the dead. 

Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far ditiused 

And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, 

Like virtue, thriving most where little seen : 

Some more aspiring catch the neighbour-shrub 

With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch. 

Else unadora'd, with many a gay festoon 

And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 

The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. 

All hate the rank society of weeds. 

Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust 

Th' impoverish'd earth ; an overbearing race. 

That like the multitude made faction-mad. 

Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. 

O bless'd seclusion from a jarring world. 
Which he thus occupied enjoys ! Retreat 
Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
Lost innocence, or cancel follies past ; 
But it has peac:e, and much secures the mind 
From all assaulU of evil ; proving still 



THE GAKDEN. '£^i 

A. iaithfid barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease 
By vicious Custom, raging uncontroU'd 
Abroad, and desolating public life. 
When fierce Temptation, seconded within 
By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 
Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breoHt* 
To combat may be glorious, and success 
Perhaps may crown u^ ; but to fly is safe. 
Had I the choice of sublunary good. 
What could I wish, that I possess not here ? 
Health, leisure, means to improve it, friendship, peace 
No loose or wanton, though a wandering, muse, 
And constant occupation without care. 
Thus bless'd I draw a picture of that bliss ; 
Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minda. 
And profligate abusers of a world 
Created fair so much in vain for them. 
Should seek the guiltless joys, that I describe. 
Allured by my report : but sure no less, 
That self-condemn'd they miist neglect the piize. 
And what they will not taste must yet approve. 
What we admire we praise ; and when we praiS2 
Advance it into notice, that its worth 
Acknowledged, others may admire it too. 
I therefore recommend, though at the nsk 
Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, 
ITie cause of piety, and sacred truth. 
And virtue, and those scenes, which God ordain 'd 
Should best secure them, and promote them most , 
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 
Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd 
Pure is the nymph, fhough liberal of hei smiles. 
And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol- 
Not as tlie prince in Shushan, when he call'd, 
Vain-glorious of her chai-ms, his Vashti forth. 
To grace the full pavilion. His design 
Was but to boast his own peculiar gcod. 
Which all might view with envy, none partake. 
My charmer is not mine alone ; my sweets. 
And she that sweetens all my bitters too. 
Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 
And lineaments divine I trace a hand 



2i'2 THE TASK. 

That en's not, aui fiud raptures stiii reuewd. 

Is free to all men — universal prize. 

Strange that so fair a creature should yet wixrA 

Admirers, and be destined to divide 

With meaner objects e'en the few she finds! 

Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flowos... 

She loses all her influence. Cities then 

Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 

Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love. 

But are not -wholesome airs, though unperfvimed 

By roses ; and clear suns, though scarcely felt; 

And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure 

From clamour, and whose very silence charms , 

To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse 

That metropolitan volcanoes make, 

Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long» 

And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow. 

And thundei'ing loud, with his ten thousand v/heels t 

They would be, were not madness in the heads. 

And folly in the heart ; were England now. 

What England was, plain, hospitable, kind. 

And ixudebauch'd. But we have bid farewell 

To all the virtue of those better days, 

And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 

Knew their own masters ; and laborious hinds. 

Who had survived the father, served the son. 

Now the legitimate and rightful lord 

Is but a transient guest, newly anived. 

As soon to be supplanted. He, that saw 

His patrimonial timber cast its leaf. 

Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price 

To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 

Estates are landscapes, gazed upon a while, 

Then advertised, and auctioneer'd away. [charged 

The country starves, and they, that feed the o'er- 

And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues. 

By a just judgment stiip and starve themselves. 

The wings, that waft our riches out of sight, 

Grow on the gamester's elbows ; and the alert 

And nimble motion of those restless joints, 

That never tire, soon fans ihem all away. 

Improvement too, the idol of the age, 



THE GARDEN -JiVi 

is fed with many a victim. Lo, he Lotues 
The omnipotent magician, Brown, appears ! 
Down falls the venerable pile, the abode 
Of oiu' forefathers — a grave whisker'd race, 
But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead. 
But in a distant spot ; where more exposed 
It may enjoy tlie advantage of the north, 
And agnish east, tUl time shall have transform'd 
Those naked acres to a sheltering gnjve. 
He speaks. The lake in front becomes a la^vll ; 
Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise ; 
And streams, as if created for his use. 
Pursue the track of his directing- v/and. 
Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow. 
Now m urmuring soft, now roaring in cascades — 
l?'en as he bids ! The enraptured owner smiles. 
'Tis finish'd, and yet, finish'd as it seems. 
Still wants a gi'ace, the loveliest it could shew, — 
A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. 
Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth, 
Ke sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish'd plan. 
That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day 
Ijabour'd, and many a night pursued in dreams, 
Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven 
He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy! 
And nov/ perhaps the glorious hour is come, 
V.'hen, having no stake left, no place to eiidear 
Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause 
A moment's operation on his love. 
He bums with most intense and ilagi-ant zeal 
To serve his country. Ministerial gTace 
Deals him out money from the public chest ; 
Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse 
Supplies his need with an usurious loan. 
To be refunded duly when his vote 
Well managed shall have earn'd its worthy price- 
O innocent, compared with arts like these. 
Crape, and oock'd pijstol, and the whistling ball 
Sent through the traveller's temples! He, that lind:! 
One drop of Heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, 
Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, 
So he may wrap himself in honest rags 



2*1 THE lASK 

At. his last gasp : but could not lor a world 
Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 
From pools and ditches of the commonwealth. 
Sordid and sickening- at his own success. 

Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd 
liy endless riot, vanity, the lust 
Of pleasure and variety, despatch, 
As duly as the swallows disappear, 
The world of wandering knights and 'squires to town 
Loudon ingulphs them all 1 The shark is there. 
And the shark's prey ; the spendthrift, and the lecc] 
That sucks him : there the sycophant, and he 
Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows. 
Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 
And groat per diem, if his patron frown. 
The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
Were character'd on every statesman's door, 
* Batttr'd and bankrupt J'ortuxes mended here 
These are the charms that sully and eclipse 
The charms of Nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe. 
That lean, hard-handed Poverty intlict^. 
The hope of better things, the chance to win. 
The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused, 
That at the sound of Winter's lioary wing 
Unpeoples all our counties of such herds 
Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose. 
And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 

O thou, resort and mart of all the earth, 
Chequer'd with all complexions of mankind. 
And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I see 
Much that I love, and more that I admire. 
And all that I abhor ; thou freckled fair. 
That pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh. 
And I can weep, can hope, and can despond 
Feel wrath and pity, when 1 think on thee ! 
Ten righteous would have saved a city once. 
And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee— 
That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else. 
And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, 
llian Sodom in her day hud power to be, 
For whom God heard hia Abraham plead in vain 



_^ 



285 



BOOK IV. 

rhe post comes in.^The newspaper is read. — 1 he world cont< m 
plated at a distance.— Address to Winter.— The rural aiiiiist' 
luentB of a winter evenine; compared with the f;u,!iionablc o;ie>. 
—Address to Evenino-.- A brown study.— Fall .-l snow in thi. 
evenin?.- The waggoner.— A poor family-piece.— The rur;ii 
thief.— Public houses.— The multitude of them cenriured.— Tlie 
farmer's daughter: what she was— what she is.— The simpli- 
city of country manners almost lost. — Causes of the chunrt-. — 
Desertion of the country by the rich. — Neglect of m.igistr ires, 
—The militia principally in fault.— The new recruit ami lii> 
transformation.— Reflection on bodies corporate.— T: e lovt <\ 
rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally t\tin 
guished. 

THE WINTER EVENING. 

Hark I 'tis the twangine: horn o'er yonder brid>:e. 

That with its wearisome but needful length 

Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 

Sees her iinwi-inlcled face reflected bright ; — 

He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 

With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks ; 

News from all nations lumbering at his back. 

True to his charge, the close pack'd load behind. 

Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 

Is to conduct it to the destined inn ; 

And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on. 

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted Avretch, 

Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 

Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ; 

To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 

Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks. 

Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 

With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 

Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. 

Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains. 

Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 

His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 

But O the important budget ! usher'd in 

With such heart-shaking music, v/ho can say 

What are its tidings ? have our troops awaked t 

Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, 

Snore to the murmurs ot t!ie Atlantic wave ? 

Is India free ? and does she wear her plumed 



286 THli, TASK. 

And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace ; 
Or lo we g:rind her still 1 The grand debate. 
The popular harangue, the tart reply, 
The iog-ic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; 
I bum to set the imjmson'd wranglers free, 
And give them voice and utterance once again. 
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. 
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each. 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
Not such his evening, who with shining face 
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed 
And bored with elbow-points through both his sides 
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage : 
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, 
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage, 
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles 
This folio of four pages, happy work ! 
Which not e'en critics criticise ; that holds 
Inquisitive Attention, while I read. 
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair. 
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; 
What is it, but a map of busy life. 
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? 
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, 
That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
The seals of office glitter in his eyes; 
He climbs, he pants, he grasps tliem ! At his heels 
Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends. 
And with a dext'rous jerk soon twists him dovnii 
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 
Here rills of oily eloquence in soft 
Meanders lubricate the course they take ; 
The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved. 
To engross a moment's notice; and yet begs. 
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts. 
However trivial all that he conceives. 
Sweet bashfulness 1 it claims at least this prai.<»e? 



THE WINTER EVENING. v87 

The dearth of information and good sense. 

That it foretells us, always comes to pass. 

Cataracts of declamation thunder here ; 

TTiere forests of no meaning spread the page, 

In which all compreheiision wanders lost ; 

WTiile fields of pleaaantry amuse us there 

With merry descants on a nation's woes. 

The rest appears a wilderness of strange 

But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks. 

And lilies for the hrow of faded age ; 

Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 

Heaven, earth, and ocean plunder'd of their swef t- 

Nectareous essences, 01>Tnpian dews. 

Sermons, and city-feasts, and favourite airs. 

Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, 

And Katerfelto, with his hair on-end 

At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 

'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat 
To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
To some secure and more than mortal height. 
That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
With all its generations ; I behold 
The tumult and am still. The sound of war 
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ; 
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
And avarioe that make man a wolf to man; 
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, 
By which he speaks the language of his heart. 
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 
ile travels and expatiates, as the bee 
From flower to flower, so he from land to land; 
The mannere, customs, policy, of all 
Pay contribution to the store he gleans ; 
He sucks intelligence in every clime, 
And spreads the honey of his deep research 



288 THE TASK. 

At his return — a rich repast for me. 
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, 
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes 
Discover countries, with a kindred heart 
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; 
While fancy, like the fin-ger of a clock. 
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 

O winter, ruler of the inverted year. 
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fiU'd, 
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
Than those of age, thy forehead vvrapp'd in clouds, 
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy thron* 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels. 
But urged by storms along its slippery way, 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st. 
And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun 
A prisoner in the yet undawning east. 
Shortening his journey between morn and noon. 
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease. 
And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought. 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee king of intimate delights. 
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturb'd Retiremrnt, and the hours 
Of long unintemip^ed evening, know. 
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ; 
No powder'd pert, proficient in the art 
Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors 
Till the street rings ; no stationary' steeds 
Cough their own knell, while heedless of the sound. 
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake : 
But here the needle plies its busy task, 
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower, 
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn. 
Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs. 
And cmling tendrils, g-racefully disposed. 



THE WINTER EVENING. V'S'J 

Follow the nimble finger of the fair; 

A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers that blow 

With most success when all besides decay. 

The poet's or historian's page by one 

Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 

The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out ; 

And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, 

And in the charming strife triumphant still ; 

Beguile the night, and set a ki^enei' edg-e 

On female industry : the threaded steel 

Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 

The volume closed, the customary rites 

Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal; 

Such as the mistress of the world once found 

Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 

Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors. 

And luider an old oak's domestic shade, 

Enjoy'd, spare feast! a radish and an egg. 

Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull. 

Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 

Of fancy or proscribes the sound of mirth ; 

Nor do we madly, like an impious world, 

Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 

That made them an inti-uder on their joys, 

Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 

A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone, 

Exciting oft our gratitude and love. 

While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand, 

That calls the past to our exact review, 

The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare. 

The disappointed foe, deliverance found 

Unlook'd for, life preserved, and peace restored. 

Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 

O evenings worthy of the gods I exclaim'd 

The Sabine bard. O evenings, I reply. 

More to be prized and coveted than yours. 

As more illumined, and with nobler truths. 

That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. 

Is Winter hideous in a garb like this ? 
Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lampe. 
The pent-up breath of an unsavoui'y throng^ 
N 



20') THK TASK. 

To thaw him into feeling ; or the smart 

And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits 

Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile 1 

The self-complacent actor, when he views 

(Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 

The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof 

(As if one master spring controU'd them all) 

Relax'd into an universal g-rin, 

Sees eot a countenance there that speaks of joy 

Half so refined or so sincere as ours. 

Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 

That idleness has ever yet contiived 

To fill the void of an uiifurnish'd brain. 

To palliate dullness, and give time a shove. 

Time, as he passes us has a dove's wing, 

Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound ; 

But the world's Time, is Time in masquerade ! 

Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged 

With motley plumes ; and, where the peacock shew* 

His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red, 

With spots quadrangular of diamond form, 

Ensang-uined hearts, clubs typical of stiife, 

And spades the emblem of untimely graves. 

What should be, and what was an hour-glass once 

Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard -mace 

Well does the work of his destructive scythe. 

Thus deck'd, he charms a world whom fashion blindt 

To his true worth, most pleased when idle most 

Whose only happy are their wasted hours. 

E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore 

The backstring and the bib, assume the dress 

Of womanhood, sit pupils in the school 

Of card-devoted Time, and night by night 

Placed at some vacant corner of the board, 

Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. 

But truce with censure. Roving as 1 rove, 

Where shall I find an end, or how proceed ? 

As he that travels far oft turns aside. 

To view some rugged rock or mouldering tower, 

Which seen delights him not; then coming home 

Describes and prints it, that the world may know 

How far be went for what was nothing worth ; 



THE WINTER EVENING. 23J 

So I, with brush in hand, and palette spread. 
With colours mix'd for a far different use, 
Paint cards, and dolls, and every idle thing, 
That Fancy finds in her excursive flights. 

Come, Evening, once again, season of peace ; 
Return, sweet Evening, and continue long! 
Methiuks I see thee in the streaky west, 
With matron step slow moving, while the Night 
Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employ'd 
In letting fall the curtain of repose 
On bird and beast, the other charged for man 
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : 
Not sumptuously adom'd, nor needing aid. 
Like homely-featured Night, of clustering gems ; 
A star or two, just twinkling im thy brow. 
Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine 
No less than hers, not worn indeed on high. 
With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
With modest grandeur in thy pxirple zone, 
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, 
Or make me so. Composure is thy gift : 
And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 
To books, to music, or the poet's toil ; 
To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit ; 
Or twilling silken threads round ivory reels, 
When tliey command whom man was born to please 
I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 

Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze 
With lights, by clear reflection multiplied 
From many a mirror, in which he of Gath. 
Goliah, might have seen his giant bulk 
Whole without stooping, towering crest and all, 
My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps 
The glowing hearth may satisfy ^hile 
With faint illumination, that uplifts 
The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 
Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. 
Not undelightful is an hour to me 
So spent in parlour-twilight : such a gloom 
Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, 
The mind contemplative, with some new 



292 THE TASK. 

Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. 
Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers. 
That never feel a stupor, know no pause. 
Nor need one ; I am conscious, and confesB 
Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 
Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild 
Sooth'd with a waking^ dream of houses, towers. 
Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd 
In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
I gazed, myself creating what I saw. 
Nor less amused have I quiescent watch'd 
The sooty tilros, that play upon the bars 
Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
Of superstition, prophesying still, 
Thouiih still deceived, some stranger's near approach. 
Tis thus the undei-standing takes repose 
In indolent vacuity of thought. 
And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face 
Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask 
Of deep deliberation, as the man 
Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. 
Thus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an hour 
At evening, till at length the freezing blast, 
That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
The recollected powers ; and snapping short 
The glassy threads, withwhich the fancy weaves 
Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. 
How calm is my recess ; and how the frost. 
Raging abroad, and the rough wind endear 
The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within! 
I saw the woods and fields at close of day 
A variegated show ; the meadows green. 
Though faded ; and the lands, where lately wared 
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, 
Upturn'd so lately jby the forceful share. 
I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
With verdure not unprofitable, gi-azed 
By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each 
His favourite herb ; while all the leafless grores 
That skirt the horizon, wore a sable hue. 
Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 
To-morrow brings a change ! a total change J 



THE WII^TEH EVENING. 293 

Which eyen now, though silently perform'd 
And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
Of universal nature undergoes. 
Fast falls a fleecy shower: the downy flakes 
Descending, and, with never-ceasing lapse. 
Softly alighting upon all below. 
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
Gladly the thickening mantle ; and the green 
And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blasts 
Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 

In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, 
Without some thistly son-ow at his side. 
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
Against the law of love, to measure lots 
With less distinguish'd than ourselves; that thus 
We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 
\iul sympathize with others sufi'ering more, 
iil fares the traveller now, and he that stalks 
!n ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 
the wain tioes heavily^ impeded sore 
By congregating loads adhering close 
l':i the clogg'd wheels ; and in its sluggish pace 
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow, 
riie toiling steeds expand the nostril wide. 
While every breath, by respiration strong 
Forced downward, is consolidated soon 
I'pon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear 
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth 
Pi-esented bare against the storm, plods on. 
One hand secures his hat, save when with both 
He brandishes his pliant length of whip 
Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. 
O happy ; and in my account denied 
That sensibility of pain, with which 
Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou! 
Thy frame, i-obust and hardy, feels indeed 
The pieicing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 
Tho learned finger never need explore 
Thy vigorous pulse ; and the unhealthful east, 
ThKt breathes the spleen, and searches ev^ry boos 



294 THK TASK. 

Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 
Thy days roll on exempt from household care ; 
Thy waggon is thy wife ; and the poor beasts. 
That drag the dull companion to and fro, 
Thine helpless charge dependent on thy care. 
Ah treat them kindly ! rude as thou appear'st, 
Yet shew that thou hast mercy ! which the great, 
With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, 
Humane as they would seem, not always shew. 

Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat. 
Such claim compassion in a nii^ht like this, 
And have a friend in every feeling heart. 
Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long 
They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. 
The frugal housewife trembles when she lights 
Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear. 
But dying soon, like all terrestrial joya. 
The few small embers left she nurses well ; 
And while her infant race, with outspread hands, 
And crowded knees, sit cov/ering- o'er the sparks, 
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
The man feels least, as more inured than she 
To winter, and the current in his veins 
More briskly moved by his severer toil ; 
Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 
The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw 
Dangled along at the cold finger's end, 
Just when the day declined; and the brown loal 
Lodged on the shelf, half eaten without sauce 
Of savoury cheese, or butter, costlier still ; 
Sleep seems their only refuge : for, alas ! 
Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, 
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. 
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care 
Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 
Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool, 
Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale. 
They live, and live without extorted alms 
From grudging hands ; but other boast have none. 
To soothe their honest pride, that scoi-ns to beg. 
Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. 



X 



THE WINTER EVENING. 298 

I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, 
For ye are worthy ; choosing rather far 
A dry but independent crust, hard eam'd, 
And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 
The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
Of distribution; liberal of their aid 
To clamorous importunity in rags. 
But oft-times deaf to suppliants, who would blush 
To wear a tatter'd garb, however coarse. 
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth : 
These ask with painful shyness, and, refused 
Because deserving, silently retire 1 
But be ye of good courage! Time itself 
Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase; 
And all your numerous progeny, well-train'd. 
But helpless, in few years shall find their hands. 
And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want 
What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare. 
Nor what a wealthier than omv^elves may send. 
I mean the man, who, when the distant poor 
Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 

But poverty with most, who whimper forth 
Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe ; 
The efiect of laziness or sottish waste. 
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
For plunder ; much solicitous how best 
He may compensate for a day of sloth 
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 
Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge, 
i': ash'd neatly, and secured with driven stakes 
Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength, 
Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil. 
An ass's burden, and when laden most 
And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. 
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard 
The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 
From his pernicious force. Nor wiU he leave 
Unwrench'd the d'oor, however well secured. 
Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 
In unsuspecting pomp. 'Twitch'd from the pewh 
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives. 



2S6 THE rAbV.. 

To his voracious bap.-, strugg'Iing- in vain. 
And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 
Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse, 
Did pity of their sufferings wai-p aside 
His principle, and tempt him into sin 
For their support, so destitute. But they 
Neglected pine at home ; themselves, as more 
Exposed than others, with less scruple made 
His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. 
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst 
Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts 
His every action, and imbrutes the man. 
O for a law to noose the villain's neck, 
Who starves his own ; who persecutes the blood 
He gave them in his children's veins, and hates 
And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love .' 

Pass where we may, through city or through town. 
Village, or hamlet, of this merry land, 
'i'hough lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace 
Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff 
Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes 
I'iiat law has licensed, as makes Temperance reel. 
I'hi're sit, involved and lost in curling clouds 
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, 
TIk; lackey, and the groom: the craftsman there 
lakes a Lethean leave of all his toil; 
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears. 
And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike. 
All learned, and all drunk! the fiddle screams 
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd 
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard : 
Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme ; while she 
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand 
Her luidccisive scales. In this she lays 
.4. weight of igixorance ; in that, of pride ; 
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound. 
The cheek-distending oath, not to Ve praised 
As ornamental, musical, polite. 
Like those, which modem senators employ, 
Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for famsl 



THE WINTER EVENING. 297 

Behold the schools in which plebeian minds. 
Once simple, are initiated in arts, 
Which some may practise with politer grace. 
But none with readier skill ! — 'tis here they learn 
The road that leads from competence and peace 
To indigence and rapine ; till at last 
Society, grown weary of the load, 
Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. 
But censure profits little : vain the attempt 
To advertise in verse a public pest. 
That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds 
His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. 
The excise is fatten'd with the rich result 
Of aU this riot ; and ten thousand casks, 
For ever dribbling out their base contents, 
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state. 
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. 
Drink, and be mad then ; 'tis your country bids! 
Gloriously drunk, obey the important call ! 
Her cause demands the assistance of your throats;— 
Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. 

Would I had fallen upon those happier days 
That poets celebrate ; those golden times. 
And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings. 
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. 
Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 
That felt their virtues : Innocents, it seems. 
From courts dismiss'd, foiuid shelter in the groves ; 
The footsteps of Simplicity, impress'd 
Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing), 
Then were not all effaced : then speech profane. 
And manners profligate, were rarely found. 
Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. 
Vain wish ! those days were never ; airy dreams 
Sat for the picture ; and the poet's hand. 
Imparting substance to an empty shade. 
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
Grant it : I still must envy them an age. 
That favour'd such a dream ; in days like tliese 
Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce. 
That to suppose a scene where she presides. 
Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. 



298 THE TASK. 

No : we are polish'd now. The rural lass. 

Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 

Her artless manners, and her neat attire. 

So dignified, that she was hardly less 

Than the fair shepherdess of old romance, 

Is seen no more. The character is lost! 

Her head, adorn 'd Avith lappets pinn'd aloft. 

And ribands streaming gay, superhly raised. 

And magnified beyond all human size, 

Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 

For more than half the tresses it sustains ; 

Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering frame 

Ill-propp'd upon French heels ; she might be deem'd 

(But that the basket dangling on her arm 

Interprets her more truly) of a rank 

Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs. 

Expect her soon with footboy at her heels, 

No longer blushing for her awkward load. 

Her train and her umbrella all her cai'e ! 

The town has tinged the country ; and the stain 
Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe. 
The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 
Down into scenes still rural ; but, alas, 
Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now ! 
Time was, when in the pastoral retreat 
The unguarded door was safe ; men did not watch 
To invade another's right, or guard their own. 
Then sleep was undistui-b'd by fear, unscared 
Hy drunken bowlings; and tlie chilling tale 
Of midnight murder was a wonder, heard 
With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
But farewell now to unsuspicious nights. 
And slumbers unalarm'd ! Now, ere you sleep, 
See that your polish'd arms be primed with care 
And drop the night-bolt ; ruifians are abroad ; 
And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat 
May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 
To hori-id sounds of hostile feet within. 
E'en daylight has its dangers ; and the walk 
Through pathlesg wastes and woods unconscious onoe 
Of other tenants than melodious birds, 
Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 299 

Lamented change ! to which full many a cause 

Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 

The course of human things from good to ill, 

From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 

Increase of power begets increase of wealth, 

Wealth luxury, and luxury excess ; 

Excess the scrofulous and itchy plague. 

That seizes first the opulent, descends 

To the next rank contagious, and in time 

Taints downward all the graduated scale 

Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 

The rich, and they that have an arm to check 

The license of the lowest in degree. 

Desert their office ; and themselves, intent 

On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 

To all the violence of lawless hands 

Resign the scenes their pre.sence might protect. 

Authority herself not seldom sleeps, 

Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 

The plump convivial parson often bears 

The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 

His reverence and his worship both to rest 

On the same cushion of habitual sloth. 

Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; 

When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 

Himself enslaved by terror of the band, 

The audacious convict whom he dares not bind. 

Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure. 

He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove 

Less dainty than becomes his grave outside 

In lucrative concerns. Examine well 

His milk-white hand ; the palm is hardly clean — 

But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 

Foh ! 'twas a bribe that left it : he has tonch'd 

Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here 

Propitious pays his tribute, game or fish, 

Wild-fowl or venison ! and his errand speeds- 

But faster far, and more than all the rest, 
A. noble cause, which none, who bears a «par4t 
Of public virtue, ever wish'd removed, 
Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 
'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 



300 THK TASK. 

The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause. 
Seem most at variance with all moral good. 
And incompatible with serious thought. 
The clown, the child of nature, wif hout guile, 
Bless'd with an infant's ignorance of all 
But his own simple pleasures ; now and then 
A wrestling-match, a foot-race, or a fair; 
Is ballotted, and trembles at the news : 
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling sweart 
A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please. 
To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, 
That instant he becomes the Serjeant's care, 
His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
His awkward gait, his introverted toes, 
Bent knees, roxmd shoulders, and dejected looks, 
Prociu'e him many a curse. By slow degrees, 
Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stall", 
He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, 
Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well : 
He stands erect ; his slouch becomes a walk ; 
He steps right onward, martial in his air. 
His form, and movement ; is as smart above 
As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears 
His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace ; 
And, his three years of heroship expired, 
Returns indignant to the slighted plough. 
He hates the lield, in which no file or dnim 
Attends him ; drives his cattle to a march ; 
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
'Twere well if his exterior change were all — 
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 
His ignorance and hannless manners too. 
To swear, to game, to drink; to shew at home 
By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath-breach. 
The great proficiency he made abroad ; 
To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends ; 
To break some maiden's and his mother's heart; 
To be a pest where he was useful once ; 
Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now. 
Man in society is like a flower 



THE WrWTER EVENING. hOl 

Blown In its native bed ; 'tis there alone 
His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
Shine out ; there only reach their proper use. 
But. man associated and leagued with man 
By regal wan-ant, or self-join'd by bond 
For interest-sake, or swamiing into clans 
Beneath one head, for purposes of war, 
Like flowers selected from the rest, and boimO 
And bundled close to fill some crowded vase. 
Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd. 
Contracts defilement not to be endured. 
Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues: 
And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
In all their private functions, once combined. 
Become a loathsome body, only fit 
For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
Against the charities of domestic life. 
Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
Their nature ; and, disclaiming all regard 
For mercy and the common rights of man, 
Build factories with blood, conducting trade 
At the sword's point, and dyeing: the white robe 
Of innocent commercial Justice red. 
Hence too the field of glory, as the world 
Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, 
With all its majesty of thundering pomp, 
Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths. 
Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught 
On principle, where foppery atones 
For folly, gallantry for every vice. 

But slighted as it is, and by the gTeat 
Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret, 
Infected with the manners and the modes 
It knew not once, the country wins me still. 
I never framed a wish, or form'd a plan. 
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss. 
But there I laid the scene. There early strand 
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
My vei'y dreams were rural ; rural too 
The first-born efibrts of my youthful muse* 



302 THE TASK. 

Sportive and jingling her poetic bells, 

Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. 

No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned 

To Nature's praises. Heroes and theu- feats 

Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe 

Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang, 

"Yhe rustic throng beneath his favourite beech. 

Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms : 

New to my taste, his Paradise sui-pass'd 

The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 

To speak its eS:cellence. I danced for joy. 

I marvell'd much, that, at so ripe an age 

As twice seven years, his beauties had then first 

Engaged my wonder; and admiring still. 

And still admiring, ^\'ith regret supposed 

The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 

There too, enamour'd of the life I loved. 

Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit 

Determined, and possessing it at last 

With transports, such as favour'd lovers feel, 

I studied, prized, and wish'd that I had known 

Ingenious Cowley ! and, though now reclaim'd 

By modern lights from an enoneous taste, 

I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 

Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 

I still revere thee, courtly though retired I 

Though sti'etch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bower.s, 

Not unemploy'd: and finding rich amends 

For a lost world in aolitude and verse. 

'Tis born with all : the love of Nature's works. 

Is an ingredient ir. the compound man 

Infused at the creation of the kind. 

And, though the Almighty Maker has throughout 

Discriminated each from each, by strokes 

And touches of his hand, with so much art 

Diversified, the two were never found 

Twins at all points — yet this obtains in all, 

That all discern a beauty in his works, 

And all can taste them t minds that have been formU 

And tutor'd with a relish more exact, 

But none without some relish, none unmoved. 

It is a flame that dies not even there. 



THE WINTER KVENING. 303 

Where nothing feeds it : neither business, crowds, 

Nor habits of luxurious city-life. 

Whatever else they smother of true worth 

In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 

The villas with which London stands begirt. 

Like a swartb Indian, with his belt of beads. 

Prove it. A breatli of unadulterate air, , { [ 

The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer '. 

The citizen, and brace his languid frame ! 

E'en in the stilling bosom of the town 

A garden, in v/hich nothing thrives, has charms 

That soothe the rich possessor ; much consoled , 

That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint, 

Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 

He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 

That Nature lives ; that sight-refre.shing green 

Is still the livei-y she delights to wear, 

Tliough sickly samples of the exuberant whole. 

What arc the casements lined with creeping herbs. 

The prouder sashes fronted with a range 

Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, 

The Frenchman's darliiig ?* are they not all proofs, 

That man, immured in cities, still retains 

His inborn inextinguishable thirst 

Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 

By supplemental shifts, the best he may 1 

The most unfumish'd with the means of life. 

Are they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds, 

To range the ftelds and treat their lungs with air. 

Yet feel the burning instinct : over head 

Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick 

And v/ater'd duly. There the pitcher stands 

A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there ; 

Sad witnesses how close pent man regi-ets 

The country, with what ardour he contrives 

A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease. 
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys. 
And harmless pleasures, in the throng'd abode 
Of multitudes unknown ; hail, rural life ! 
Address himself who will to the pursuit 
* Mi^nioiiette. 



304 THE TASK. 

Of honours, or emolument, or tame ; 

I shall not add myself to such a chase. 

Thwart his attempts, or en^^ his success. 

Some must be great. Great offices will have 

Great talents; and God gives to every man 

The virtue, temper, understanding-, taste 

That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 

Just in the niche he was ordain 'd to fill. 

To the deliverer of an injured land 

He gives a tong-ue to enlarge upon, a heart 

To feel, and courage to redress, her wrongs : 

To monarchs dignity ; to judges sense ; 

To artists ingenuity and skill ; 

To me, an unambitious mind, content 

In the low vale of life, that early felt 

A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long 

Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. 



BOOK V. 

A frosty inornin».— Tlie foddering of cattle.— The woodman and 
liis do^ — The poultry.— Whimsical effects of frost at a water- 
fall.— I he empress ot Russia's palace of ice.— Anuisenienrs of 
monarchs. — War one of them. — Wars, whence. — And whence 
monarchy. — The evils of it. — Eni^lish and French loyalty con- 
trasted. — The Bastille, and a prisoner there. — Liberty the chief 
recommendation of this country. — Modern patriotism question- 
able, and why.— The fterishable nature of tlie best human in- 
stitutions.- Spiritual liberty not perishable.— The slavish state 
of man by nature. — Deliver him, Deist, if you can. — Grace 
must do it.— The res))ective merits of patriots and martyrs 
slated. — Their different treatment. — Happy freedom of th« 
man whom jjraoe makes free. — His relish of the works of Goi' 
—Address to the Creator. 

THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 

'Tis morning; and the .sun, with ruddy orb 
Ascending, fires th' horizon ; while the clouds. 
That crowd away before the driving wind, 
More ardent as the disk emerges more. 
Resemble most some city in a blaze, 
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
Slides inelfcctunl down the snowy vale. 
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue. 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 80i 
From every herb and every spiry blade 
Stretehea a length of shadow o'er the field. 
Mine, spindling into longitude immense. 
In spite of gravity, and sage remark 
That 1 myself am but a fleeting shade, 
Provokes me to a smile. With e^'e askance 
I view the muscular proportion 'd limb 
Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair. 
As they design'd to mock me, at my side 
Take step for step ; and, as I near approach 
The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall. 
Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man. 
The verdui-e of the plain lies buried deep 
Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents, 
And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, 
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad. 
And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
Their wonted fodder ; not like hungering man. 
Fretful if unsupplied : but silent, meek, 
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging oft. 
His broad keen knife into the solid mass : 
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands. 
With such undeviating and even force 
He severs it away: no needless care, 
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
Forth goes the woodman, lea^-ing unconcern'd 
The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe. 
And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear, 
rVom morn to eve his solitai*y task. 
Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears, 
And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher, and half cur. 
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow 
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout : 



• 



S06 THE TASK. 

Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy. 

Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 

Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught, 

But now and then with pressure of his thumb 

To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube. 

That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 

Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 

Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale. 

Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam 

Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side. 

Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 

The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing, 

And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood. 

Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 

The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves, 

To seize the fair occasion ; well they eye 

The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved 

To escape the impending famine, often scared 

As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 

Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 

Remains to each, the search of sunny nook. 

Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd 

To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 

His wonted strut ; and, wading at their head 

With well-consider'd steps, seems to resent 

His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench 'd. 

How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 

The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songa. 

Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? 

Earth yields them naught ; the impi-ison'd wonn is 

Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 

Lie cover'd close ; and berry-bearing thorns. 

That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose)^ 

Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 

The long-protracted rigour of the year 

Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and l«>U« 

Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, 

As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere tliey die. 

The very rooks and daws forsake the fields. 

Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now 

Repays their labour more ; and perch'd aloft 

By the wayside, or stalking in the path. 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK S07 

Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track, 

Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them, 

Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 

The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, 

O'erwhelming- all distinction. On the flood, 

Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight 

Lies undissolved, while silently beneath. 

And unperceived, the current steals away. 

Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps 

The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, 

And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : 

No frost can bind it there ; its utmost force 

Can but arrest the light and smoky mist. 

That in its fall the liquid sheet tlirows wide. 

And see where it has hung the embroider'd bajjk.* 

With forms so various, that no jowers of art. 

The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene ! 

Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high 

(Fantastic misarraiigement !) on the roof 

Large growth of what may seem the sparkliiig trees 

And shrubs of faii-y land. The crystal drops. 

That trickle down the branches, fast congeard. 

Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 

And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 

Here grotto within grotto safe defies 

The sun-beam ; there, emboss'd and fretted wild, 

The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 

Capricious, in which fancy seek.s in vain 

The likeness of some object seen before. 

Thus Nature woiks as if to mock at Art, 

Alii in defiance of her rival powers ; 

By these fortuitous and random strokes 

Performing such inimitable feats. 

As she with all her rules can never reach. 

Less worthy of applause, though more admired. 

Because a novelty, the v/ork of man. 

Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ, 

Thy most magnificent and mighty freak. 

The wonder of the North. No forest fell. 

When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores 

To enrich tny v.'alls : but thou didst hew the floods, 

And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 



308 tup: tash. 

In such a palace Aristwus found 

Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 

Of his lost bees to her maternal ear ; 

In such a palace Poetry miyht place 

The armory of Winter ; where his troops, 

The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet. 

Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail. 

And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course. 

And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 

Silently as a dream the fabric rose ; 

No sound of hammer or of saw was there : 

Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts 

Were soon conjoin'd, nor other cement ask'd 

Than water interfused to make them one. 

Lamps gracefully disposed and of all hues, 

Illumined every side ; a watery light 

Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd 

Another moon new risen, or meteor fallen 

From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. 

So stood the brittle prodigy ; thoui^h smooth 

And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound 

Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within, 

That royal residence might well befit. 

For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths 

Of flowers, that fear'd no enemy but warmth. 

Blush 'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none 

Where all was vitreous ; but in order due 

Convivial table and commodious seat 

(What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there; 

Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august. 

The same lubricity was found in all, 

And all was moist to the warm touch ; a scene 

Of evanescent glory, once a stream. 

And soon to slide into a stream again. 

Alas ! 'twas but a mortifying stroke 

Of undesign'd severity, that glanced 

(Made by a monarch) on her own estate. 

On human grandeur, and the courts of kings. 

'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 

TVas durable ; as worthless as it seem'd 

Intrinsically precious ; to the foot 

Treacherous and false ; it smiled, and it was coli. 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 309 

Gi-eat princes have great playthings. Some have 
At hewing mountains into men, and some play'd 
At building human wonders mountain -hiarh. 
Some have amused the dull, sad years of life 
(Life spent in indolence^ and therefore sad) 
With bchemes of monumental fame ; and sought 
By pyramids and mausolean pomp. 
Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their bones 
Some seek diversion in the tented field, 
And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 
But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise 
Kings would not play at. Nations would do well 
To extort their tinmcheons from the puny hands 
Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds 
Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil, 
Because men suffer it, their toy the World. 

When Babel was confounded, and the great 
Confederacy of projectors wild and vain 
Was split into diversity of tongues. 
Then, as a shepherd separates his flock. 
These to the upland, to the valley those, 
God drave asunder, and assign'd their lot 
To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
He gave them, in its distribution fair 
And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace 
Peace was awhile their care ; they plough'd and sow'd 
And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife. 
But violence can never longer sleep 
Than human passions please. In every heart 
Are 80\vn the sparks that kindle fiery war ; 
Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. 
Cain had already shed a brother's blood : 
The Deluge wash'd it out; but left unquench'd 
The seeds of murder in the breast of man. 
Soon by a righteous judgment in the line 
Of his descending progeny was found 
The first artificer of death ; the shrewd 
Contriver, who first sweated at the forge. 
And forced the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 
To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. 
Him, Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times. 
The sword and falchion their inventor claim; 



310 THE TASK. 

And the first smith was the first murderer's so?!.. 

His art siirvived the waters ; and ere long, 

When man Avas multiplied and spread abroad 

In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 

These meadows and that range of hills his owuj 

The tasted sweets of property begat 

Desire of more, and industry in some, 

To improve and cultivate their just demesne, 

Made others covet what they saw so fair. 

Thus war began on earth: These fought for spoil, 

And those in self-defence. Savage at first 

The onset and irregular. At length 

One eminent above the rest for strength, 

For stratagem, for courage, or for all, 

Was chosen leader ; him they served in war. 

And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds 

Reverenced no less. Who could with him com}> - 

Or who so worthy to control themselves, 

As he, whose prowess had subdued their foe- ? 

Thus war, affording field for the display 

Of vii-tue, made one chief, whom times of pe i- •, 

Which have their exigencies too, and call 

For skill in government, at length made king. 

King was a name too proud for man to wear 

With modesty and meekness; and the crov.n, 

So dazzling in their eyes, who set it on, 

Was sure to intoxicate the brows it hound. 

It is the abject property of most. 

That, being parcel of the common mass, 

And destitute of means to raise themselves, 

Tliey sink, and settle lower than they need. 

They know not what it is to feel within 

A comprehensive faculty, that grasps 

Great purposes with ease, that turns and wieldt 

Almost without an effort, plans too vast 

For their conception, which they caniiot move. 

Conscious of impotence they soon grow drunk 

With gazing, when they see an able man 

Step forth to notice : and, besotted thuji. 

Build him a pedestal, and say, « Stand there, 

' And be our admiration and oirr praise.' 

They roll themselves before him in the dost. 



THE WINTER MORNING WALL Sll 

Then most deserving in their own account; 

When most extravagant in his applause : 

As if exalting him they raised themselres. 

Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound 

And sober judgment, that he is but man, 

They demi-deify and fume him so. 

That in due season he forgets it too. 

Inflated and astnit with self-conceit. 

He gulps the windy diet ; and ere long. 

Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 

The World was made in vain, if not for him. 

Thenceforth they are his cattle : drudges, born 

To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears, 

And sweating in his service, his caprice 

Becomes the soul that animates them all. 

Be deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives, 

Spent in the purchase of renown for him. 

An easy reckoning ; and they think the same. 

Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 

W'ere bumish'd into heroes, and became 

The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp ; 

Storks among frogs, that have but croak'd and died 

Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated man 

To eminence fit only for a god, 

Should ever drivel out of human lips, 

E'en in the cradled weakness of the world ! 

Still stranger much, that when at length mankind 

Had reach'd the sinewy firmness of their youth, 

And could discriminate and avgue wtll 

On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 

Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear 

And quake before the gods themselves had made ; 

But above measure strange, that neither proof 

Of sad experience, nor examples set 

By some, whose patriot virtue has prevail'd, 

Can even now, when they are grown mature 

In wisdom, and with philosophic deeds 

Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest! 

Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 

To reverence what is ancient, and can pleatJ 

A course of long observance for its use 

That even Bervitude, the worst nf ills. 



312 THE TASK. 

Because delivered down from sire to son. 

Is kept and guarded as a sacred tbin^. 

But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 

Or rational discussion, that a man, 

Compounded and made up like other men 

Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 

And folly in as ample measure meet. 

As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules. 

Should be a despot absolute, and boast 

Himself the only freeman of his land ! 

Should, when he pleases, and on whom he wii; 

Wage war, with any or with no pretence 

Of provocation given, or wrong sustain 'd, 

And force the beggarly last doit, by means 

That his own humour dictates, from the clutc»! 

Of Poverty, that thus he may procure 

His thousands, weary of penurious life, 

A splendid opportmiity to die 1 

Say ye, who (with less pnidence than of old 

Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees 

In politic convention) put your trust 

In the shadow of a bramble, and reclined 

In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, 

Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway. 

Where find ye passive fortitude ? Whence spriugi 

Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good. 

To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 

His thorns with streamers of continual praise ? 

We too are friends to loyalty. We love 

The king who loves the law, respects his bounds, 

And reigns content within them ; him we serve 

Freely and with delight, who leaves us free : 

But recollecting stUl that he is man. 

We trust him not too far. King though he be, 

And king in England too, he may be weak. 

And vain enough to be ambitious still ; 

May exercise amiss his proper powers, 

Or covet more than freedom choose to grant ; 

Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, 

To administer, to guard, to adorn the state. 

But not to warp or change it. We are his. 

To serve him nobly in the conimon cause. 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 313 
True to the death, but not to be his slaves. 
Mark nov/ the difference, ye that boast your love 
Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 
We love tlxe man, the paltry pageant you : 
We the chief patron ot the commonwealth. 
You the regardless author of its woes ; 
We for the sake of liberty a king. 
You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake. 
Our love is principle, and has its root 
In reason, is judicious, manly, free : 
Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, 
And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. 
Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, 
.Sterling, and worthy of a wise ntian's wish, 
I would not be a king to be beloved 
Causeless and daub'd with undiscerning praise, 
Where love is mere attachment to the throne, 
Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 
Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will 
Of a superior, he is never free. 
VVlio lives and is not weary of a life 
Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. 
I'he state, that strives for liberty, though foil'd, 
And forced to abandon what she bravely sought, 
Deserves at least applause for her attempt. 
And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 
Not often unsuccessful : power usurp'd 
Is weakness when opposed ; conscious of wrong, 
'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thougtt 
Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 
All that the contest calls for ; spirit, strength, 
The scorn of danger, and united hearts : 
The surest presage of the good they seek.* 

Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more 
To France than all her losses and defeats 
Old or of later date, by sea or land, 
Her house of bondage, worse than that of old 

• The autlior hopes that he sliall not be censured for unncces* 
sary Hirmtli upon so interesting a subject. Ke is aware, thatitS* 
btcome almost fa.«hionablc to stigmatize such sentiments ae no 
better tlian empty declamation • but it is an ill sTmpioni, aod 
pec'jliar to modern times. 

o 



314 THE iASK. 

Which God avenged on Pharaoh -the Bastille 

Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken liearts ; 

Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair, 

That monarchs have supplied from age to age 

With music, such as suits their sovereign ears, 

The sighs and groans of miserable men I 

There's not an English heart that would not leap 

To hear that ye were fallen at last ; to know 

That e'en our enemies, so oft employ'd 

In forging chains for us, themselves were free. 

For he who values Liberty, confines 

His zeal for her predominance within 

No narrow bounds ! her cause engages him 

Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 

There dwell the most forlorn of humankind, 

Immured, though unaccused, condemn'd uutr'.el, 

Cruelly spared and hopeless of escape. 

There, like the visionary emblem seen 

By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, 

And, fUletted about with hoops of brass. 

Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone 

To count the hour-bell and expect no change ; 

And ever, as the sullen sound is heard, 

Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note 

To him whose moments all have one dull pace, 

Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 

Account it music; that it summons some 

To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball: 

The wearied hireling finds it a release 

From labour; and the lover, who has chid 

Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke 

Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight — 

To fly for refuge from distracting thought 

To such amusements as ingenious woe 

Contrives, hard-shifting, and without her tools — 

To read engraven on the mouldy walls, ' 

In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, 

A sad memorial, and subjoin his own — 

To turn purveyor to an overgorged 

And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest 

Is made familiar, watches his approach. 

Gomes at his call, and serves him for a friend— 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 315 

To wear out time in numbering to and fro 

The studs, that thick emboss his iron door; 

Then downward and then upward, then aslant 

And then alternate ; with a sickly hope 

By dint of change to give his tasteless task 

Some relish ; till the sura, exactly found 

In all directions, he begins again— 

Oh comfortless existence ! hemm'd around 

With woes, which who that suffers would not kn«ei 

And beg for exile, or the pangs of death? 

That man should thus encroach on fellow man. 

Abridge him of his just and native rights. 

Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 

Upon the endearments of domestic life. 

And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, 

And doom him, for perhaps a heedless word, 

To barrenness, and solitude, and tears. 

Moves indignation, makes the name of king 

(Of king whom such prerogative can please) 

As dreadful as the Manichean god. 

Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. 

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume , 
And we are weeds without it. All constraint. 
Except what wisdom lays on evil men. 
Is evil: hurts the faculties, impedes 
Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 
The eyesight of Discovery; and begets 
In those that suffer it a sordid mind, 
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit 
To be the tenant of man's noble form. 
Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art. 
With all thy loss of empire, and though squeeitd 
By public exigence, till annual food 
Fails for the craving hunger of the state, 
Thee I account still happy, and the chief 
Among the nations, seeing thou art free. 
My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude. 
Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
All hearts to sadness, and none more than. mine. 
Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 
And plausible than social life retiuires, 



316 THE TASK. 

And thou hast need of discipline and art 
To give thee what politer France receives 
From Nature's bounty — that humane address 
And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 
In converse ; either starved by cold reserve. 
Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl> 
Yet being free, I love thee : for the sake 
Of that one feature, can be well content, 
Dis^aced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 
To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
But, once enslaved, farewell ! I could endure 
Chains no where patiently ; and chains at home, 
Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 
Then what were left of roughness in the grain 
Of British natures wanting its excuse 
That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 
And shock me. I should then with double pain 
Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime ; 
And, if I must bewail the blessing lost. 
For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 
I would at least bewail it under skies 
Milder, among a people less austere ; 
In scenes, which, having never known me free. 
Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 
Do I forbode impossible events. 

And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I ma; I 
But the age of virtuous politics is past. 
And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere. 
And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 
Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
Design'd by loud declaimers on the part 
Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust. 
Incurs derision for his easy faith, 
And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough; 
For when was public virtue to be found. 
Where private was noti Can he love the whole. 
Who loves no part? He be a nation's friend, 
Who is in truth the friend of no man there ? 
Can he be strenuou." in his country's cause. 
Who slights the charities for whose dear sake 
That conntry, if at all, must be beloved? 
Tis therefore sober and good men are sad 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. :'.!? 
For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 
And sickly, while their champions wear their hean- 
So litse to private duty, that no brain, 
Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes. 
Can dream them trusty to the general weal. 
Such were not they of old, whose temper'd blades 
Dispersed the shackles of usurp'd control. 
And hew'd them link from link ; then All)ion's «:>n. 
Were sons indeed ; they felt a filial heart 
Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs ; 
And, shining each in his domestic sphere, 
Shone brighter still, once call'd to public view. 
'Tis therefore many, whose sequester'd lot 
Forbids their interference, looking on. 
Anticipate perforce some dire event ; 
And, seeing the old castle of the state. 
That promised once more firmness, so assail'd, 
That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake. 
Stand motionless expectants of its fall. 
All has its date below ; the fatal hour 
Was register'd in Heav'n ere time began. 
We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
Die too : the deep foundations that we lay. 
Time ploughs them up, and not a trace rema'ns. 
We build with what we deem eternal rock : 
A distant age asks where the fabric stood ; 
;lnd in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain, 
The undiscoverable secret sleeps. 

But there is yet a liberty, unsung 
By poets, and by senators unpraised. 
Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers 
Of earth and hell confederate take away : 
A liberty, which persecution, fraud, 
Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind ; 
Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 
'Tis liberty of heart, derived from Heaven, 
Bought with Bis blood, who gave it to mankind. 
And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure 
By the unimpeachable and awful oath 
And promise of a God. His other gifts 
Ail bear the roval stamp, that speaks them his. 



318 THE JWSK. 

And are august ; but this transceiids them all 

His other works, the visible display 

Of all-creating energy and might. 

Are grand no doubt, and worthy of the word. 

That, finding an interminable space 

Unoccupied, has fiU'd the void so well. 

And made so sparkling what was dark before, 

But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 

Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 

Might well suppose the Artificer divine 

Meant it eternal, had he not himself 

Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, 

And, still designing a moi-e glorious far, 

Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 

These therefore are occasional, and pass, 

Form'd for the confutation of the fool. 

Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; 

That office served, they must be swept away. 

Not so the labours of his love : they shine 

In other heavens than these that we behold, 

And fade not. There is Paradise that fears 

No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 

Large prelibation oft to saints below. 

Of these the first in order, and the pledge, 

And confident assurance of the rest, 

Is liberty ; a flight into his arms. 

Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, 

A clear escape from tyrannizing lust. 

And full immunity from penal woe. 

Chains are the portion of revolted man. 
Stripes, and a dungeon ; and his body serves 
The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, 
Opprobrious residence he finds them all. 
Prepense his heart to idols, he is held 
In silly dotage on createl things, 
Care.ess of their Creator. And that low 
And sordid gravitation of his powers 
To a vile clod so draws him, with such force 
Resistless from the centre he should seek, 
That he at last forgets it. ^Vll his hopes 
Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink, 
To reach a depth profounder still, and still 



THE WlJNTEK MORNING WALK. 319 

Frofounder, in the fathomless abyss 
Of folly, plujiging in pursuit of death. 
But ere he gain the comfortless repose 
He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul 
In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures — 
What does he not, from lusts opposed in vain. 
And self-reproaching conscience ? He foresees 
The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace. 
Fortune, and dignity ; the loss of all 
That can ennoble man, and make frail life, 
Short as it is, supportable. Still worse. 
Far worse than all the plagues, with which his sine. 
Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes 
Ages of hopeless misery. Future death. 
And death still future. Not a hasty stroke. 
Like that which sends him to the dusty grave ; 
But unrepealable enduring death. 
Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears : 
What none can pi-ove a forgery may be true ; 
What none but bad men wish exploded must. 
That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud 
Nor drunk enough, to drown it. In the midst 
Of laughter his compunctions are sincere ; 
And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 
Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 
Falls first before his resolute rebuke, 
And seems dethroned and vanquish'd. Peace ensues« 
But spurious and short-lived, the puny child 
Of self-congi-atulating Pride, begot 
On fancied Innocence. Again he falls. 
And fights again ; but finds his best essay 
A presage ominous, portending still 
Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 
Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd 
So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, 
Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now 
Takes part with Appetite, and pleads the caufle 
Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd; 
With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 
And tatter'd in the sen^Jce of debauch, 
Covering his shame from his offended sight. 
' Hath God indeed given appetites to man. 



320 THE TxiSK. 

And stored the earth so plenteously with means, 

To gratify the hunger of his wish ; 

Ajid doth he reprobate, and will he damn 

The use of his own bounty 1 making first 

So frail a kind, ajid then enacting laws 

So strict, that less than perfect must despair ? 

Falsehood ! which whoso but suspects of trath, 

bishonours God, and makes a slave of man. 

Do they themselves, who undertake for hire 

i'he teacher's office, and dispense at large 

Tlieir weekly dole of edifying strains, 

A.ttend to their own music ■? have they faith 

In what, with such solemnity of tone 

And gesture, they propound to our belief? 

Nay — conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice 

Is but an instrument, on which the priest 

May play what tune he pleases. In the deed. 

The unequivocal, authentic deed, 

We find sound argument, we read the heart.' 

Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong 
To excuses in which reasoii has no part) 
Serve to compose a spirit well inclined 
To live on terms of amity with vice. 
And sin without disturbance. Often urged 
(As often as libidinous discourse 
Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
Of theological and grave import) 
i'lii^y gain at last his unreserved assent; 
Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge 
Ot" lust, and on the anvil of despair, 
H slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moveS; 
Or nothing much, his constancy in ill; 
Vain tampering has but foster'd his disease ; 
'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 
Haste now, philosopher, and set him free. 
Chai-m the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 
Of rectitude and iitness, moral truth 
How lovely, and the moral sense how sure. 
Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps 
Directly to the ^rst and only fair. 
Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the poweM 
Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise : 



THE VV 1 IS i K K .M OllN i .n c; \V A LK, 3:/ 1 
Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, 
And with poetic trappings grace thy prose. 

Till it outmantle all the pride of verse. 

Ah, tinkling cymbal, and hig-h-sounding- brass, 
Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm 
The eclipse, that intercepts trutli's heavenly beaes. 
And chills and darkens a wide-wandering- soul. 
The xtiil small voice is wanted. He must speak. 
Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect ; 
Who calls for things that are not, and they coma. 

Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change. 
That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
And stately tone of moralists, who boast 
As if, like him of fabulous renown, 
They had indeed ability to smoothe 
The shag' of savage nature, and were each 
An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song^ : 
But ti-ansfonuation of apostate man 
From fool to wise, from earthly to divine. 
Is work for Him that made him. He alone. 
And he by means in philosophic eyes 
Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
The wonder : humanizing what is brute 
In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
Of asps their venom, overpowering strength 
By weakness, and hostility by love. 

Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause 
Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they desen^e, 
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 
Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historic muse. 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn. 
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 
To guard them, and immortalize her trust : 
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid. 
To those, who, posted at the shrine of Truth, 
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, 
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, 
And for a time ensure, to his loved land 
The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; 
But martyrs struggle for a brighter pi-ize.- 
And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 

02 x 



322 THE TASK 

In confirmation of the noblest claim, 

Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, 

To walk with God, to be divinely free. 

To soar, and to anticipate the skies. 

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown, 

Till persecution dragg'd them into fame. 

And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes fle'W 

—No marble tells us whither. With their names 

No bard embalms and sanctifies his song : 

And history, so wai-m on meaner themes. 

Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 

The tyranny, that doom'd them to the fire. 

But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.* 

He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free. 
And all are slaves besides. There's not a chain, 
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm. 
Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 
He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature, and though poor perhaps compared 
With those wliose mansions glitter in his sight, 
Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
Hirs are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
And the resplendent rivers : his to enjoy 
V\ ith a propriety that none can feel, 
But who, with filial confidence inspired. 
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye. 
And smiling say — ' My Father made them all !' 
Are tliey not his by a peculiar right. 
And by an emphasis of interest his. 
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy. 
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, 
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world 
So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man? 
Yes — ye may fill your gamers, ye that reap 
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
Al liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd 
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 
• Ste Hume. 



TiiE WINTER MORNING WALK. 323 

Appropriates nature as his Father's work. 

And has a richer use of yours than you. 

He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 

Of no mean city ; plann'd or ere the hills 

Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea. 

With all his roaring multitude of waves. 

His freedom is the same in every state ; 

And no condition of this changeful life. 

So manifold in cares, whose every day 

Brings its own evil with it, makes it less : 

For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, 

Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 

No nook so narrow but he spreads them there 

With ease, and is at large. The oppressor hold* 

His body bound, but knows not what a range 

His spirit takes unconscious of a chain ; 

And that to bind him is a vain attempt. 

Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. 

Acquaint thyself with God, if thou wouldst taste 
His works. Admitted once to his embrace. 
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before : 
Thine eye shall be instructed ; and thine heart 
Made pure shall relish, with divine delight 
TiU then unfelt, what hands divine have -.wrought. 
Brutes graze the mountain top, with faces prone. 
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow. 
Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread 
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
From inland regions to the distant main. 
Man views it, and admires ; but rests content 
With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
But not its Author. Unconcem'd who form'd 
The J'aradise he sees, he finds it such. 
And, such well pleased to find it, asks no more. 
Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heaven, 
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught 
To read his wonders, in whose thought the world. 
Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
Not for its own sake merely, but for his 
Much more, who fashion'd it, he gives it praise ; 
Praise that from Earth resulting, as it ought. 



324 THE TASK. 

To Earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once 
Its only just proprietor in Him. 
The soul that sees him, or -eceives sublimea 
New faculties, or learns at least to employ 
More worthily the powers she own'd before. 
Discerns iu all things what, with stupid gaze 
Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, 
A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms 
Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; 
The unambiguous footsteps of the God, 
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds 
Much conversant with Heaven, she often holda 
With those fair ministers of light to man, 
That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp. 
Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they 
With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 
To gratuJate the new-created Earth, 
Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 
Shouted for joy. — ' Tell me, ye shining hosts 
That navigate a sea that knows no storms. 
Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud. 
If from your elevation, whence ye view- 
Distinctly scenes invisible to man. 
And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet 
Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race 
Favour'd as ours ; transgressors from the womb, 
And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, 
And to possess a brighter heaven than yours ? 
As one, who, long detain'd on foreign shores. 
Pants to return, and when he sees afar 
His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocka 
From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 
Radiant with joy towards the happy land; 
So I with animated hopes behold. 
And many an aching wish, your beamy fires. 
That .shew like beacons in the blue abyss, 
Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home 
From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 
Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires, 
That give assurance of their own success, 
And that, infused from Heaven, must thither tendo' 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK 326 

So reads he Nature, whom the lamp of truth 
Jlluminates. Thy lamp, mysterious W^ord ! 
U hich whoso sees no longer wanders lost, 
With intellects bemazed in endless doubt, 
Bill runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 
With means, that were not till by thee employ'd. 
Worlds, that had never been hadst thou in strength 
Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
Tht y are thy witnesses, who speak tliy power 
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
That hear not, or receive not their report. 
In vain thy creatures testify of thee, 
Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed 
A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine, 
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn. 
And with the boon gives talents for its use. 
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
Possess the heart, and fables false as Hell ; 
Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
The uninfomi'd and heedless souls of men. 
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as bliiid, 
The glory of thy work ; which yet appears 
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, 
Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 
Then skilful most when most severely judged. 
But chance is not ; or is not where thou reign'st : 
Thy providence forbids that fickle power 
(If power she be, that works but to confound) 
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 
Gods, such as g-uilt makes welcome ; gods that sleep 
Or disregard our follies, or that sit 
Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 
Thee we reject, unable to abide 
rby purity, till pure as thou art pure, 
Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause 
For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. 
Then we are free. Then liberty, like day. 
Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven 
Fires all the faculties with gloi-ious joy. 
A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not, 



326 THE TASK. 

Till thou hast touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song, 

A loud Kosanna sent from all thy works ; 

Which he that hears it with a shout repeats. 

And adds his rapture to the sjeneral praise. 

In that bless'd moment Nature, throwing- wide 

Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 

The author of her beauties, who, retired 

Behind his own creation, works unseen 

By the impure, and hears his power denied. 

Thou ai-t the source and centre of all minds, 

Their only i)oint of rest, eternal Word ! 

From thee departing they are lost, and rove 

At random, without honour, hope, or peace. 

From thee is all that soothes the life of man, 

His high endeavour, and his glad success. 

His strengtli to suffer, and his will to serve. 

But O thou bounteous Giver of all good. 

Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crov/n ; 

Give what thou canst, without thee we are poori 

And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 



BOOK VI. 

Bells at a distance.— Their effect.— A fine noon in winter.— A 
sheltered walk. — Meditation better than books. — Our familiarity 
with the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than 
it is. — ^The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery de- 
scribed. — A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected. 
— God maintains it by an unremitted act. — The amusements 
fashionable at this hour of the day reproved.— Animals happy, a 
deli^litful sight.— Origin of cruelly to animals.— That it is a 
great crime proved from Scripture. — That proof illustrated by a 
tale. — A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruc- 

• tion of Ihem.— Their good and useful properties insisted on.— 
Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals. 
— Instances of man's extravagant praise of man. — The groans of 
the creation shall have an end.— A view taken of the restoration 
of all things. — An invocation and an invitation of Him who 
ihall bring it to pass.— The retired man vindicated from the 
charge of uselessness. — Conclusion. 

THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds. 
And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased 
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grare ; 
Home chord in unison with what we hear 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 327 
Is touch'd within us, and the heurt replies. 
How soft the music of those tillage hells, 
Falling at intervals upon the ear 
In cadence sweet, now dying- all away, 
Now pealing loud again, and louder still, 
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! 
With easy force it opens all the cells 
Where Mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard 
A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 
And with it all its pleasures and :its pains. 
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes. 
That in a few short moments I retrace 
(As in a map the voyager his coarse) 
The windings of my way through many years. 
Short as in retrospect the journey seems, 
It seem'd not always short ; the i-ugged path. 
And prospect oft, so drearj' and forlorn. 
Moved many a sigh at its dislieart'ning length. 
Yet feeling present evils, while the past 
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all. 
How readily we wish time spent revoked, 
That we might try the groimd again where once 
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive) 
We miss'd that happiness we might have found I 
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's hest friend, 
A father, whose authority, in show 
"When most severe, and mustering all its force. 
Was hut the gi'aver countenance of love ; 
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower 
And utter now and then an awful voice. 
But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 
Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant : 
We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand 
That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allured 
By every gilded folly, we renounced 
His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent 
That converse, which we now in vain regret. 
How gladly would the man recall to life 
The boy's neglected sire ! a mother too. 
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still. 
Might he demand them at the gates of death. 
Borrow has, since they went, sulidued and tamed 



328 THE TASK. 

The playful humour ; lie could now endure 

(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears), 

And feel a parent's presence no restraint. 

But not to understand a treasvire's worth, 

Till time has stolen away the slighted good. 

Is cause of half the poverty we feel, 

And makes the world the wilderness it is. 

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss. 

And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold, 

Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. 

The night was winter in his roughest mood 
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
Upon the southern side of the slant hills, 
And v/here the woods fence off the northern blasts 
The season smiles, resigning all its rage. 
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 
Again the harmony comes o'er the vale ; 
And through the trees I view th' embattled tower, 
Whence all the music. I again perceive 
The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 
And settle in soft musings as I tread 
The walk, still verdant, imder oaks and elms. 
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
The roof, though moveable through all its length 
As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed, 
And, intercepting in their silent fall 
The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
The redbreast warbles still, but is content 
With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd; 
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 
'From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 
From many a twig the pendant drops of ice. 
That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 
Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. 
Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 
May give a useful lesson to the head. 
And Learning wiser grow without his books. 
Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 329 
Have oft-times no connexion. Knowledge d\/ell3 
In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, 
TiJl smooth 'd, and squared, and fitted to its place, 
Does but encumber whom it seems t' enrich. 
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
Books are not seldom talismans and spells. 
By which the magic art of shrewder wits 
Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. 
Some to the fascination of a name 
Surrender judgment, hoodwink'd. Some the style 
Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
Of error leads them, by a tune entranced. 
While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 
The insupportable fatigue of thought. 
And swallowing therefore, without pause or choice, 
The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
But trees and rivulets whose rapid course 
Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer. 
And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs. 
And lanes in which the primrose ere her time [root 
Peeps through the moss, that clothes the hawthorn 
Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and Truth, 
Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 
By slow solicitation, seize at once 
The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 

What prodigies can power divine perform 
More grand than it produces year by year. 
And all in sight of inattentive man '} 
Familiar with the effect we slight the cause. 
And in the constancy of nature's course, 
The regular return of genial months 
And renovation of a faded world, 
See nought to wonder at. Should Goa againj 
As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
Of the undeviating and pxmctual sim, 
How would the world admire ! but speaks it ieas 
An agency divine, to make him know 
His moment when to sink and when to rise 
Y 



330 THE TASK. 

Age after ag-e, than to arrest his course 1 
All we behold is miracle ; but seen 
So duly, all is miracle in vain 
Where now the vital energy, that moved, 
While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 
Through the imperceptible meandering veins 
Of leaf and flower ? It sleeps ; and the icy touch 
Of unprolific winter has impress'd 
A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 
But let the months go round, a few short months. 
And all shall be restored. These naked shoots. 
Barren as lances, among which the wind 
Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, 
Shall put their graceful foliage on again. 
And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 
Shall boast new charms, and more than they haTe lost 
Then each, in its peculiar honours clad, 
Shall publish even to the distant eye 
Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 
In streaming gold ; syringa, ivory pure ; 
The scentless and the scented rose ; this red. 
And of an humbler growth, the other* tall. 
And throwing up into the darkest gloom 
Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew, 
Her silver globes, light as the foamy stirf 
That the wind severs from the broken wave • 
The lilac, various in aiTay, now white. 
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 
With purple spikes pyramidal, as if 
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved 
Which hue she most approved, she chose them all; 
Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan. 
But well compensating her sickly looks 
With never-cloying odoius, early and late ; 
Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 
Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods. 
That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon too. 
Though leafless, well-attired, and thick beset 
With blushing wreaths, investing every spray; 
Althasa with the purple eye ; the broom 
Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd. 
The Guelder-roee. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 331 

Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all 

The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets. 

The deep dark gTeen of whose unvarnish'd leaf 

Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 

The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. — 

These have been, and these shall be in their day; 

And all this unifoim uncolour'd scene 

Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load. 

And flush into variety again. 

From dearth to plenty, aad from death to lite, 

Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man 

In heavenly truth ; eviuring, as she makes 

The grand transition, that there lives and works 

A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 

The beauties of the v/ilderness are his 

That makes so gay the solitary place. 

Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms. 

That cultivation glories in, are his. 

He sets the bright procession on its way, 

And marshals all the order of the year ; 

He marks the bounds, which Winter may not pass, 

And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case. 

Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 

Uninjured, with inimitable art; 

And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, 

Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 

Some say that in the origin of things. 
When all creation started into birth. 
The infant elements received a law. 
From which they swerve not since. That under force 
Of thu. controlling ordinance they move, 
And need not his immediate hand who first 
Prescribed their coarse to regulate it now. 
Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 
The encumbrance of his own concerns, aiid spare 
The great artificer of all that moves 
The stress of a continual act, the pain 
Of unremitted vigilance and care, 
As too laborious and severe a task. 
So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems, 
To span omnipotence, and measure might, 
That knows no measure, by the scanty nile 



332 THE TASK. 

And standard of his own, that is to-day, 

And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. 

But how should mattier occupy a charge. 

Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 

So vast in its demands, unless impell'd 

To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, 

And under pressure of some conscious cause 1 

The Lord of all, himself through all diffused. 

Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. 

Nature is but a name for an effect, 

Whose caiise is God. He feeds the secret fire 

By which the mighty process is maintain'd, 

Who sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight 

Slow circling ages are as transient days ; 

Whose work is without labour ; whose designs 

No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts ; 

And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 

Him blind antiquity profaned, not served, 

With self-taught rites, and under various names 

Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 

And Ffbra, and Vertumniis ; peopling earth 

With tutelary goddesses and gods, 

That were not ; and commending as they would 

To each some province, garden, field, or grove. 

But all are under one. One spirit — His, 

Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, 

Rules universal nature. Not a flower 

But shews some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain. 

Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 

Their balmy odours, and impai-ts their hues, 

And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes. 

In grains as countless as the sea-side sands. 

The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 

Happy who walks with him ! whom what he fin 

Of flavour or of scent in fruit or ^ower, 

Or what he views of beautiful or c'rand 

In nature, from the broad majestit oak 

To the green blade that twinkles in the sun 

Prompts with remembrance of a present God. 

His presence, who made all so fair, perceived. 

Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene 

Is dreary, so with him all seasons please 



THE WINTKK. WALK AT NOOM. 333 

Though winter had been none, had man been true. 

And earth be punish'd for its tenant s sake, 

Yet not in vengeance ;* as this smiling sky. 

So soon succeeding such an angry night. 

And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 

Recovering fast its liquid music, prove. 

Who then, that has a mind well-strung and tuned 
To contemplation, and within his reach 
A scene so friendly to his favourite task, 
Would waste attention at the chequer'd board, 
His host of wooden warriors to and fro 
Marching and countermarching, with an eye 
As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridged 
And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand 
Trembling, as if eternity were hung 
In balance on his conduct of a pin ? 
Nor envies he aught more their idle sport. 
Who pant with application misapplied 
To trivial toys, and, pushing ivory balls 
Across a velvet level, feel a joy 
Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds 
Its destined goal, of difficult access. 
Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 
To Miss, the mercer's plagiie, from shop to shop 
Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks 
The polish'd counter, and approving none. 
Or promising with smiles to call again. 
Nor him, who by his vanity seduced. 
And sooth 'd into a dream that he discerns 
The difference of a Guido from a daub, 
Frequents the crowded auction : station'd there 
As duly as the Langford of the show, 
With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand. 
And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cantp 
And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease 
Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls. 
He notes it in his book, then raps his box. 
Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate, 
That he has let it pass — but never bids. 

Here unmolested, through whatever sign 
The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mkt, 
Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me. 



334 THK TASK. 

Nor stranger intermeddling' with my joy. 

E'en in the spring and pla>-^ime of the year* 

That calls the unwonted villager abroad 

With all her little ones, a sportive train. 

To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, 

And prick their hair with daisies, or to pick 

A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook, 

These shades are all my own. The timorous hare. 

Grown so familiar with her frequent guest. 

Scarce shuns me ; and the stockdove unalarro'd 

Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends 

His long love-ditty for my near approach. 

Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm. 

That age or injury has hollow'd deep. 

Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves. 

He has outslept the winter, ventures forth 

T-* frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun. 

The squiiTel, flippant, pert, and full of play; 

He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird [brush, 

Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks hu 

And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud, 

With all the prettiness of feign 'd alarm. 

And anger insignificantly fierce. 

The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
For human fellowship, as being void 
Of s^-mpathy, and therefore dead alike 
To love and friendship both, that is not pleased 
With sight of animals enjoying life. 
Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
The bounding fawn that darts across the glade 
When none pursues, through mere delight of heart. 
And spirits buoyant with excess of glee ; 
The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, 
That skims the spacious meadow at full speed. 
Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels, 
Starts to the voluntary race again ; 
The very kine, that gambol at high noon. 
The total herd receiving first from one, 
That leads the dance, a summons to be gay. 
Though wild their strange vagaries and uncouth 
Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent 
To give such act and utterance, as they may 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 3a5 
To e«5tacy too big- to be suppress'd — 
These, and a thousand images of bliss, 
With which kind nature graces every scene, 
Where cruel man defeats not her design, 
Impart to the benevolent, who wish 
All that are capable of pleasure pleased, 
A far superior happiness to theira. 
The jomfort of a reasonable joy. 

Man scarce had risen obedient to His call. 
Who form'd him from the dust, his future grave. 
When he was crow^l'd as never king was since. 
God set the diadem upon his head. 
And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood 
The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd. 
All happy, and all perfect in their kind, 
The creatures, summon'd from their various haunts, 
To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. 
Vast was his empire, absolute his power, 
Or bounded only by a law, whose force 
Twas his sublimest privilege to feel 
And owu, the law of universal love. 
He ruled with meekness, they obey'd with joy ; 
No cruel pui-pose lurk'd within his heart, 
And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
So Eden was a scene of harmless spoi-t. 
Where kindness on his part, who ruled the whole. 
Begat a tranquil confidence in all. 
And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear 
But sin man-'d all ; and the revolt of man. 
That source of evil not exhausted yet. 
Was punish'd with revolt of his from him. 
Garden of God, how tenible the change 
Thy groves and lawns then witness'd ! Every heart 
Each animal, of every name, conceived 
A jealousy, and an instinctive fear. 
And, conscious of some danf;er either fled 
Precipitate the loath'd abode of man, 
Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort, 
Afl taught him too to tremble in his turn. 
Thus harmony and family accord 
Were driven from Paradise; and in that hour 
The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd 



336 THE TASK. 

To such gigantic iuid enonuous growth, 
Were sown in hmnan nature's fruitful soil. 
Hence date tho pei-secution and the pain. 
That man inflictis on all inferior kinds, 
Regardless of their plaints. To make him si>orf 
To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, 
Or his base gluttony, are causes good 
And just in his account, why bird and beast 
Should sutler torture, and the streams be dyed 
With blood of their inhabitants impaled. 
Earth groans beneath the burden of a war 
Waged with di fenceless innocence, while he, 
Not satisfied to prey on all aix)und, 
Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs 
Needless, and first torments ere he devoura. 
Now happiest they, that occupy the scenes 
The most remote fi-om his abhorr'd resort. 
Whom once, as delegate of God on earth, 
Tliey fear'd, and, as his perfect image, loved. 
Tiw wilderness is theirs, with all its caves. 
Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, 
Unvisited by man. There they are free. 
And howl and roar as likes them unconti"oll*d ; 
Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. 
AVoe to the tyrant if he dare intcude 
W .'^liin the conhnes of their wild domain : 
The lion tells him — I am monarch hei-e — 
Ami, if he sjiare him, spares him on the terms 
Of royal mercy, and thj-ough gen'rous scorn 
To rend a victim trembling at his foot. 
In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, 
Or by necessity constrain'd, they live 
Dependent upon man ; those in his fields. 
These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 
They prove too often at how dear a rate 
He sells protection. Witness at his foot 
The spaniel dying for some venial fault 
Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; 
Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yellf 
Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs. 
To madness ; while the savage at his heel» 
Laughs at the frantic s\ifi''rer's fury, spent 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 337 

I'pon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 

lie too is witness, noblest of the train 

I'hHt wait on man, the flight-performing horse ; 

VV ith unsiispecting readiness he tatea 

His murderer on his back ; and push'd all day 

With bleeding sJdes and flanks, that heave for life. 

To the far distant goal arrives and dies. 

So little mercy shews who needs so much ! 

Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, 

Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None. 

He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts 

(As if barbarity were high desert) 

The inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise 

Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose 

The honours of his matchless horse his own. 

But many a crime, deem'd innocent on earth. 

Is register'd in heav'n ; and these no doubt 

Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. 

Man may dismiss compassion from his heart. 

But God will never. When he charged the Jew 

To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise ; 

And when the bush-exploring boy that seized 

The young, to let the parent bird go free ; 

Proved he not plainly, that his meaner works 

Are yet his care, and have an interest all. 

All, in the universal Father's love? 

On Noah, and iu him on all mankind, 

The charter was conferr'd by which we hold 

The llesh of animals in fee, and claim 

O'er all we feed on power of life and death. 

But read the instrument, and mark it well: 

The oppression of a tyrannous control 

Can ftnd no warrant there. Feed, then, and yieU 

Thanks for thy food- Carnivorous, through sin. 

Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute 1 

The Governor of all, himself to all 
So bountiful, in whose attentive ear 
The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp 
Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed. 
Not seldom, his avenging arm to smite 
The injurious trarapler upon nature's law 
P 



388 THE TASK. 

That claims forbearance even for a brute. 

He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart; 

And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 

The blameless animal, without rebuJte, 

On which he rode. Her opportune offence 

Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 

He sees that human equity is slack 

To interfere, though in so just a cause ; 

And makes the task his own. Inspiring dximb 

And helpless victims with a sense so keen 

Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, 

And such sagacity to take revenge. 

That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. 

An ancient, not a legendary tale, 

By one of sound intelligence rehearsed 

(If such who plead foir Providence may seem 

In modem eyes), shall make the doctrine clear. 

Where England, stretch 'd towards the setting sun, 
Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave. 
Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scorner he 
Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent. 
Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. 
He joumey'd; and his chance was as he went. 
To join a traveller of far different note, 
Evander, famed for piety, for years 
Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
Fame had not left the venerable man 
A stranger to the manners of the youth, 
Whose face too was familiar to his view. 
Their way was on the margin of the land, 
O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base 
Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
The charity, that warm'd his heart, was moved 
At sight of the man-monster. With a smile 
Gentle and affable, and full of grace. 
As fearful of offending whom he wish'd 
Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths 
Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd ; 
But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. 
*■ And dost thou dream,' the impenetrable man 
Exclaim'd, • that me the liUlabies of age, 
And fantasies of dotards such as thou. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 33!< 
Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me ? 
II' ark now the proof I give thee, that the brave 
Need no such aids, as superstition lends 
To steol their hearts against the dread of death.' 
He spoke, and to the precipice at hand 
Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, 
And the blood thrills and curdles, at the thought 
Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. 
But, though the felon on his back could dare 
The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed 
Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, 
Or ere his hoof had press'd the cmmbling verge. 
Baffled his rider, saved against his will. 
The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd 
By medicine well applied, but without grace 
The heart's insanity admits no cure. 
Enraged the more, b.y what might have reform'd 
His horrible intent, again he sought 
Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd. 
With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood 
But still in vain. The Providence, that meant 
A longer date to the far nobler beast, 
Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake. 
And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere 
Incui-able obduracy evinced. 

His rage grew cool ; and,pleas'd perhaps to have earn'd 
So cheaply the renown of that attempt, 
With looks of some complacence he resumed 
His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
Of good Evander, still where he was left 
Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread. 
So on they fared. Discourse on other themes 
Ensuing seem'd to obliterate the past ; 
And tamer far for so much fury shewn 
(As is the course of rash and fiery men). 
The rude companion smiled, as if transform'd. 
But 'twas a transie^it calm. A storm was near. 
An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 
The impious challenger of Power divine 
Was now to learn, that Heaven, though slow to wratfi, 
Is never with impunity defied. 
His horse, as he had caught his master's mood. 



340 THE TASK. 

Snorting, and starting into sudden rage. 
Unbidden, and not now to be contioll'd, 
Rush'd to the cliff, and, having reach'd it, stood. 
At once the shock unseated him : he flew 
Sheer o'er the cragrgy barrier; and, immersed 
Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 
The death he had deserved, and died alone. 
So God wrought dou ^le justice ; made the fool 
The victim of his own tremendous choice. 
And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 

1 would not enter on my list of friends 
(Tliough graced with polish 'd manners and fine sense 
Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a wonn. 
An inadvertent step may crush the snail. 
That crawls at evening in the public path ; 
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd, 
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. 
And charged perliaps with venom, that intrudes 
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 
Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 
The chamber, or refectory, may die : 
A necessary act incurs no blame. 
Not so when, held within their proper hounds, 
And guiltless of offence, they range the air. 
Or take their pastime in the spacious fiold ; 
There they are privileged ; and he that hiuits 
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, 
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm. 
Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode 
The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, 
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims 
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are all — the meanest things that are, 
As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 
As God was free to form them at the first, 
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. 
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach yoxir son« 
To love it too. The springtime of our years 
Is soon dishonour'd and defiled in most 
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 341 

To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots. 

If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, 

Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 

Mercy to him that shews it, is the rule 

And righteous limitation of its act, 

By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man j 

And he that shews none, being ripe in years, 

And conscious of the outrage he commits, 

Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 

Distinguish 'd much by reason, and still more 
By our capacity of grace divine. 
From creatures, that exist but for our sake. 
Which, having served us, perish, we are held 
Accountable ; and God some future day 
Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 
Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. 
Superior as we are, they yet depend 
Not more on human help than we on theirs. 
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given 
In aid of our defects. In some are found 
Such teachable and apprehensive parts. 
That man's attainments in his own concerns, 
Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in theire 
Are oft times vanquish'd, and throwTi far behind. 
Some shew that nice sagacity of smell. 
And read with such discernment, in the port 
And figure of the man, his secret aim. 
That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 
But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
To quadruped instructors, many a good 
And useful quality, and virtue too, 
Rarely exemplified among oTirselves ; 
Attachment never to be wean'd, or changed 
By any change of fortune ; proof alike 
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect ; 
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
Can move or warp; and gratitude for small 
And trivial favours, lasting as the life, 
And glistening even in the dying eye. 

Man praises man. Desert in aits or armil 
Wins public honour ; and ten thousand sit 



S42 THE TASK. 

Patiently present at a sacred song, 

Commemoration-mad ; content to hear 

(O wonderful effect of music's power J) 

Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. 

But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve— 

(For, was it less, what heathen would have dared 

To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wneath. 

And hang it up in honour of a man ?) 

Much less might serve, when all that we design 

Is but to gratify an itching ear, 

And give the day to a musician's praise. 

Remember Handel 1 Who, that was not born 

Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, 

Or can, the more tiian Homer of his age ? 

Yes — we remember him ; and, while we praise 

A talent so divine, remember too 

That His most holy book, from whom it came. 

Was never meant, was never used before, 

To buckram out the mem'ry of a man. 

But hush ! — the Muse perhaps is too severe ; 

And with a gravity beyond the size 

And measure of the offence rebukes a deed 

Less impious than abs'-rd, and owing more 

To want of judgment than to wrong design. 

So in the chapel of old Ely House, 

When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, 

Had fled from William, and the news was fresli. 

The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce. 

And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, 

Sung to the praise and glory of King George I 

— Man praises man ; and Garrick's memory next. 

When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 

The idol of our woi-ship while he lived 

The god of our idolatry once more. 

Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go 

In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 

The tlieatre too small shall suffocate 

Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits 

Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 

Ungratilied : for there some noble lord 

Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch 

Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON 34S 

And strut, and storac, and straddle, stamp and stare. 

To shew the world how Garrick did not act. 

For Gai-rick was a worshipper himself; 

He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites 

And solemn ceremonial of the day, 

And caU'd the world to worship on the hank 

Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof 

That piety has still in human hearts 

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 

The mulberry-tree was hung- with blooming- wreaths ; 

The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance ; 

The mulben-y-tree was hynnn'd with dulcet airs ; 

And from his touch-wood tnink the mulben-y-tree 

Supplied such relics as devotion holds 

Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 

So 'twas a hallow'd time : decorum reign 'd, 

And mirth without offence. No few return'd, 

Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd. 

— Man praises man. The rabble all alive, 

From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and sties. 

Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, 

A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. 

Some shout him, and some hang upon his car. 

To gaze in his eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 

Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy : 

While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 

The gilded equipage, and, turning loose 

His steeds, tisurp a place they well deserve. 

Why? what has chann'd them 1 Hath he saved the 

No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No. [state f 

Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, 

That finds out every crevice of the head 

That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs 

Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near 

And his own cattle must .suffice him soon. 

Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise. 

And dedicate a tribute, in its use 

And just direction sacred, to a thing 

Doom'd to the dust, or lodged already there. 

Encomium in old time was poets' work ; 

But poets having lavishly long since 

Exhausted all materials of the art, 



S44 THE TASK. 

The task now falls into the public hand ; 
And I, contented with an humbler theme. 
Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down 
The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds 
Among her lovely works with a secure 
And unambitious course, reflecting clear, 
If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. 
And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 
Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine 
May stand between an animal and woe. 
And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 

The groans of Nature in this nether world. 
Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end, 
Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, 
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lanip, 
The time of rest, the promised sabbath, cornea. 
Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh 
Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course 
Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
Of this tempestuous state of human things 
Is merely as the working of a sea 
Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest : 
For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 
The dust that waits upon his sultry march. 
When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is Lot 
Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
Propitious in his chariot paved with love ; 
And what his storms have blasted and defaced 
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 

Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
Not to he wrong'd by a mere mortal touch ; 
Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 
But when a poet, or when one like me, 
Happy to rove among poetic flowers. 
Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, 
Such is the impulse and the spur he feels. 
To give it praise proportion'd to its worth. 
That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems 
The labour, were a task more arduous still. 

O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 345 
Scenes of accomplished bliss ; which who can see. 
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the ]oy1 
Rivers of gladness water all the earth. 
And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
Of barrenness is past. The fiaiitful field 
Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean, 
Or fertile only in its own disgrace. 
Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. 
The various seasons woven into one. 
And that one season an eternal spring, 
The garden feai's no blight, and needs no fence, 
For there is none to covet; all are full. 
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, 
Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
Together, or all gambol in the shade 
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 
Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
Lui-ks in tlie serpent now : the mother sees. 
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : 
That creeping pestilence is driven away ; 
The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart 
No passion touches a discordant string, 
But all is hai-mony and love. Disease 
Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 
One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
• Worthy the Lamb, for he was slaiu for us !' 
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops 
From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; 
Till, nation after nation taught the strain. 
Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. 
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd ; 
See Salem built, the labour of a God ! 
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 



346 I'HE TASK. 

Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 
Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy. 
And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, 
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there ;* 
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. 
Praise is in all her gates ; upon her walls, 
Ajid in her streets, and in her spacious coui-ts, 
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 
Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; 
And ^Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand. 
And worships. Her report has ti'avell'd forth 
Into all lands. From every clime they come 
To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 
O Sion! an assembly such as earth 
Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. 

Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were 3nc, 
Perfect, and all must be at length restored. 
So God has greatly purposed ; who would else 
In his dishonour'd works himself endure 
Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
Haste then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, 
Ye slow-revolving seasons ! we would see 
(A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 
A world, that does not dread and hate his laws, 
And suffer for its crime ; would learn how fair 
The creature is that God pronounces good. 
How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
Here every di'op of honey hides a sting ; 
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers i 
And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart 
Derives from Heaven, pure as the fountain is, 
Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint 
From touch of human lips, at best impure. 
O for a world in principle as chaste 
As this is gross and selfish ! over which 
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway. 
That govern all things here, shouldering aside 
The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her 

• Nebaioth and Kedar. the sons of Ishmael, and prngeniton ol 
the Arabs, in the propnetic scripture here alluded to, may be 
reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 347 

To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife 

In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men : 

Wliere violence shall never lift the sword, 

Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, 

Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : 

Where he, that fills an office, shall esteem 

The occasion it presents of doing good 

More than the perquisite : where Law shall speak 

Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts 

And Equity ; not jealous more to guard 

A worthless form th an to decide aright ; 

Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 

Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental gTase) 

With lean performance ape the work of Love ! 

Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, 
Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, 
Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine 
By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth ; 
And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, 
And overpaid its value with thy blood. 
Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and in their hearts 
Thy title is engraven with a pen 
Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 
Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and thy delay 
Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 
The dawn of thy last advent, long desired. 
Would creep i)ito the bowels of the hills. 
And flee for safety to the falling rocks. 
The very spirit of the world is tired 
Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long. 

Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?' 
The infidel has shot his bolts away, 
Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none. 
He gleans the bli'nted shafts, that have recoil'd. 
And aims them al the shield of Truth again. 
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands. 
That hides divinit> from mortal eyes ; 
And all the mysteries to faith proposed. 
Insulted and traduced, are cast aside. 
As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 
They now are deemM the faithful, and are praised, 
Who coustant only ii rejecting thee. 



348 THE TASK. 

Deny thy Godhead with a martyi-'s zeal. 
And quit their office for their error's sake. 
Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet e'en these 
Worthy, compared with sycophants, who kneel. 
Thy name adoring-, and then preach thee man '. 
So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare 
The world takes little thought. Who will may preach, 
And what they will. All pastors are alike 
To wandering- sheep, resolved to follow none. 
Two gods divide them all — Pleasuie and Gain : 
For these they live, they sacrihce to t!u»si', 
And in their service wag-e pei-pctual war 
With Conscience and with thee. Lust in their ii>':u-rs. 
And mischief in their hands, they roam tiie ; a"th. 
To prey upon each other: stubborn, fierce, 
High-minded, foaming out their own di nrnce. 
Thy prophets speak of such ; and, noting down 
The features of the la.st degenerate times, 
Exhibit every lineament of these. 
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, 
Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, 
Due to thy ]a.st and most effectual work, 
Thy word fulliU'd, the conquest of a world ! 
He is the happy man, whose life e'en now 
Shews somewhat of that happier life to come ; 
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, 
Is pleased with it, and were he free to choose. 
Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the 
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, [fniit 

Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 
Content indeed to sojourn while he must 
Below the skies, but having there his home. 
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 
Of objects more illustrious in her view ; 
And, occupied as earnestly as she. 
Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. 
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not: 
He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. 
He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 
Pursuing gilded flies ; and such he deems 
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 
Therefore in contemplation is his bliss. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. ^49 

Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth 

She makes familiar with a heaven unseen. 

And shews him glories yet to be reveal 'd. 

Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy'd. 

And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams 

Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird. 

That flutters least, is longest on the wing. 

Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised. 

Or what achievements of immortal fame 

He purposes, and he shall answer — None. 

His warfare is within. There unfatigued 

His fervent spirit labours. There he fights. 

And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, 

And never- withering •wreaths, compared with which 

The laurels that a Csesar reaps are weeds. 

Perhaps the self-approving haughty world. 

That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks. 

Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, 

Deems him a cipher in the works of God, 

Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, 

Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 

Her siuishine and her rain, her blooming spring 

And plenteous harvest, tr. the pra^.^r he makes. 

When, Isaac like, the solitary saint 

Walks forth to meditate at eventide. 

And think on her who thints not for lusrself. 

Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns 

Of little worth, an idler in the best, 

If author of no mischief and some good, 

He seeks his proper happiness by means 

That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine. 

Nor, though he tread the secret path of life. 

Engage vo notice, and enjoy much ease, 

Account him an encumbrance on the state, 

Receiving benefits, and rendering none. 

His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere 

Shine with his fair example, and though small 

His influence, if that influence all be spent 

In soothing sorrow, and in quenching strife. 

In aiding helpless indigence, in works, 

From which at least a grateful few derive 

Some taste of comfort in a world of woe ; 



350 THE TASK. 

Then let the supercilious great confess 

He serves his country, recompenses well 

The state, heneath the shadow of whose vine 

He sits secure, and in the scale of life 

Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. 

The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen. 

Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; 

But he may boast, what few that win it can. 

That, if his country stand not by his skill, 

At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 

Polite Refinement offers him in vain 

Her golden tube, through which a sensual world 

Draws gross impurity, and likes it well. 

The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 

Not that he peevishly rejects a mode 

Because that world adopts it. If it bear 

The stamp and clear impression of good sense. 

And be not costly more than of true worth, 

He puts it on, and for decorum sake 

Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. 

She judges of refinement by the eye. 

He by the test of conscience, and a heart 

Not soon deceived ; aware that what is base 

No polish can make sterling ; and that vice, 

Though well perfumed and elegantly dress'd. 

Like an unburied carcase trick'd with flov.crs, 

Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter fai 

For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire. 

So life glides smoothly and by stealtli away, 

More golden than that age of fabled gold 

Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care 

Or stain'd witli guilt, beneficent, approved 

Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. 

So glide my life away, and so at last, 

My share of duties decently fulfill'd, 

May some disease, not tardy to perform 

Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke, 

Disn>iss me weary to a safe retreat. 

Beneath the turf, that I have often trod. 

It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call'd 

To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, 

I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 351 

With that light task ; hut soon, to please her more. 

Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, 

Let fall the unfinish'd wreath, and roved for fniit; 

Roved far, and gather'd much ; some harsh, 'tis tnie, 

Pick'd from the thorns and hriers of reproof, 

But wholesome, well-digested ; grateful some 

To palates that can taste immortal truth ; 

Insipid else, and sure to be despised. 

But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. 

In vain the poet sings, and the worlJ hears, 

If he regard not, though divine the theme. 

'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 

Ak(1 idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre. 

To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart ; 

Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, " 

Whose approbation—prosper even mine. 



352 



AN EPISTLE 

TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

Dear Joseph — five and twenty years ago— 
Alas, how time escapes ! — 'tis even so — 
With frequent intercourse, and always s-weet. 
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! 
As some ^ave gentleman in Terence says 
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days) 
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings — 
Strange fluctuation of all human things! 
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, 
But distance only »;annot change the heart : 
And, were I call'd to prove th' assertion true. 
One proof should serve — a reference to you. 

Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life 
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife. 
We find the friends we fancied we had won, 
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? 
Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch f 
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such. 

Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe. 
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge. 
Dreading a negative, and overawed 
Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. 
Go, fellow ! — whither ? — turning short about — 
Nay. Stay at home — you're always going out. 
'Tis but a step, sir ; just at the street's end. — 
For what ? — An please you, sir, to see a friend. — 
A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — 
Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart. — 
And fetch my cloak ; for, though the night be raw, 
I'll see him too — ^the lirst I ever saw. 

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild. 
And was his plaything often when a child ; 
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him cloee» 
Else he was seldom bitter or morose. 



EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 353 
Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, 
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made ; 
Perhaps 'twas mere good-humour gave it birth, 
The liarmless play of pleasantry and mirth, 
flowe'er it was, his language, in my mind, 
B^'spoke at least a man that knew naankind. 

But not to moralize too much, and strain 
To prove an evil of which all complain 
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun) 
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
Once on a time, an emperor, a wise man. 
No matter where, in China or Japan, 
Decreed, that v/hosoever should offend 
Against the well-known duties of a friend. 
Convicted once should ever after wear 
But half a coat, and shew his bosom bare. 
Tlie punishment importing this no doubt, 
That all was naught within, and all found out. 

O happy Britain ! we have not to fear 
Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
Else, could a law, like that which I relate. 
Once have the sanction of o"r triple state. 
Some few, that I have known in days of old, 
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow^ 
iJijdit traverse England safely to and fro, 
An honest man close button'd to the chin. 
Broad cloth without, and a warm heart withixt. 



S54 



TIRCCINIUM: 

OR, 

A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 



Kc^aXaiov drj Traideiag opOr} rpo<pt]. Plato. 
Apx^? TToXiTtiag aTraatjg vnov Tpo(pa. 

Dies;. Laertt 



INSCRIBKD TO THE REV. WM. CAWTHORNE IINWIW. 

It i3 not from his form, in which we trace 

Strength join'd with beauty, dignit>' with grace. 

That man, the master of this globe, derives 

His right of empire over all that lives. 

That form indeed, the associate of a mind 

Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind. 

That form, the labour of Almightji skill. 

Framed for the service of a freeborn will. 

Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control- 

But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. 

Hers is th« state, the splendour, and the throne. 

An intellectual kingdom all her own. 

For her the Memory fills her ample page 

With truths pour'd down from every distant age j 

For her amasses an imbounded store. 

The wisdom of great nations, now no more ; 

Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil ; 

Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil ; 

When copiously supplied, then most enlarged ; 

Still to be fed . and not to be surcharged. 

For her the Fancy, roving unconfined, 

The present uiuse of every pensive mind, 

Works magi<' wonders, adds a brighter hue 

To Nature's hcenes than Nature ever knew. 



REVIEW Oh' SCHOOLS. jDo 

At her command winds rise, and waters ruai. 
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore ; 
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies. 
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. 
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife. 
That grace and nature have to wage through life. 
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, 
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, 
Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice 
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. 

Why did the fiat of a God give birth 
To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth 1 
And, when descending he resigns the skies. 
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise. 
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless wayoa> 
And owns her power on every shore he laves 1 
Why do the seasons still enrich the year. 
Fruitful and young as in their first career? 
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, 
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze : 
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, 
Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews 
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues. — 
'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste. 
Power misemploy'd, munificence misplaced. 
Had not its Author dignified the plan. 
And crown'd it with the maiesty of man. 
Thus foi-m'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught. 
Look where be will, the wonders God has verough 
The wildest sconier of his Maker's laws 
Finds in a sober moment time to pause. 
To press th' important question on his heart, 
' Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art?' 
If man be what he seems, this hour a slave. 
The next mere dust and ashes in the gi'ave. 
Endued with reason only to descry 
His crimes and follies with an aching eye ; 
With passions, just that he may prove with pain. 
The force he spends against their fury vain ; 
And if, soon after having burnt, by turns. 
With every lust with which frail nature bums. 



366 TIROCINIUM : OR, A 

His being end, where death dissolves the bond. 
The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond ; 
Then he, of all that nature has brought forth. 
Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth 
And useless while he lives, and when he dies, 
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. 

Truths that the learu'd pursue with eager thought. 
Are not important always as dear-bought, 
Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 
A childish waste of philosophic pains ; 
But truths on which depend our main concern, 
That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn 
Shine by the side of every path we tread 
With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 
'Tis true that, if to trifle life away 
Down to the sunset of their latest day, 
Then perish on futurity's wide shore 
Like fleeting exhalations, foixnd no more. 
Were all that heaven required of humankind, 
And all the plan that de.stiny design'd, 
What none could reverence all might justly blame. 
And man would bi'eathe but for his Maker's shame 
But reason heard, and nature well perused, 
At once the dreaming mind is disabused. 
If all we find possessing earth, sea, a>r. 
Reflect His atti-ibutes, who placed them there. 
Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd 
Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing mind, 
'Tis plain the creature, whom he cb>jse to invest 
With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, 
Received his nobler nature, and was made 
Fit for the power, in which he stands airay'd ; 
That first, or last, hereafter, if not here. 
He too might make his Author's wisdom clear, 
Praise him on earth, or obstiiiately dumb, 
Suffler his justice in a world by come. 
This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied. 
To prove a consequence by none denied, 
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 
Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth, 
That taught of God they may indeed be wise. 
Nor ignorantly wandering miss the skies. 



REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 357 

In early days the conscience has in moft 
A quickness, which in later life is lost: 
Preserved from guilt by salutary fears. 
Or g-uilty, soon relenting- into tears. 
Too careiess often, as our years proceed, 
What friends we sort with, or what books wc read^ 
Our pai-ents yet exert a prudent care. 
To feed our infant minds with proper fare ; 
And wisely store the nursery by degrees 
With wholesome learning', yet acquired with ease. 
Neatly secured from being soil'd or torn 
Beneath a pane oi thin translucent horn, 
A book (to please us at a tender age 
'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page) 
Presents the prayer the Saviour deigu'd to teach. 
Which children use, and parsons — when they preach. 
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next 
Through moral nan-ative, or sacred text ; 
And learn with wonder how this world began. 
Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom 'd man : 
Points, which, unless the Scripture made them plain^ 
The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 

thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing 
Back to the season of life's happy spring, 

1 pleased remember, and, while memory yet 
Holds fast her otti(-e here, can ne'er forget ; 
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 
Sweet fiction and sweet ti"uth alike prevail ; 
Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style 
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; 
Witty, and well employ'd, and, like thy Lord, 
Speaking- in parables his slighted word ; 

I name thee not, lest so despised a name 
Should liiove a sneer at thy deserved fame ; 
Yet e'en in transitory life's late day. 
That mingles all my brown with sober gray. 
Revere the man, whose pilgrim marks the road, 
A)id guides the progi'ess of tlie soul to God. 
'Twere well with most, if books, that could eugage 
Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age; 
The man, approving what had chami'd the boy 
Would die at last in comfort, peare, and joy ; 



368 TIROCINIUM : OR, A 

And not with curses on his heart, who stole 

The gem of truth from his unguarded aoul. 

The stamp of artless piety impress'd 

By kind tuition on his yielding breast, 

The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw. 

Regards with scorn, though once received with airs 

And warp'd into the labyrinth of lies, 

That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise. 

Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan 

Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man. 

Touch but his nature in its ailing part. 

Assert the native evil of his heart. 

His pride resents the charge, although the proof* 

Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough : 

Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross 

As God's expedient to retrieve his loss. 

The young apostate sickens at the view, 

And hates it with the malice of a Jew. 

How weak the barrier of mere Jiature proves. 
Opposed against the pleasures nature loves ! 
While self-betray'd, and wilfully undone. 
She longs to yield, no sooner woo'd than won. 
Try now the merits of this bless'd e:Kchange 
Of modest truth for wit's eccentiic range. 
Time was, he closed as he began the day, 
With decent duty, not ashamed to pray : 
The practice was a bond upon his heart, 
A pledge he gave for a consistent part ; 
Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 
A Power, confess'd so lately on his knees. 
But TiDw farewell all legendary tales. 
The shadows fly, philosophy prevails ; 
Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves ; 
Religion makes the free by nature slaves. 
Priests have invented, and the world admired 
What knavish priests promulgate as inspired ! 
Till reason, now no longer overawed. 
Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud 
And, common-sense diffusing real day, 
The meteor of the Gospel dies away. 

♦ See 2 Cliron. c1i. xxvi. ver. 19. 



REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 3.59 

Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth 
Learn from expert inquirers after truth ; 
Whose only care, might truth presume to speak. 
Is not to find what they profess to seek. 
And thus, well-tutor'd only while we share 
A mother's lectures and a nurse's care ; 
And taught at schools much mythologic staff,* 
But sound religion sparingly enough ; 
Our early notices of truth, disgraced. 
Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced. 

Would you your son should be a sot or dunce. 
Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once ; 
That in good time the stripling's finish'd taste 
For loose expense, and fashionable waste, 
Should prove your ruin, and his own at last; 
Train him in public with a mob of boys. 
Childish in mischief only and in noise. 
Else of a mannish growth and five in ten 
In infidelity and lewdness men. 
There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, 
That authors are most useful pawn'd or sold ; 
That pedantry is all that schools impart. 
But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart ; 
There waiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays, 
Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise. 
His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove. 
And some street-pacing harlot his first love. 
Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong. 
Detain their adolescent charge too long ; 
The management of tiroes of eighteen 
Is difficult ; their punishment obscene. 
The stout tall captain, whose superior size 
The minor heroes view with envious eyes, 
Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix 
Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 
His pride, that scorns to obey or to submit, 
With them is courage ; his effrontery wit 

* The author hegs leave to explain. — Sensible that, without 
such knowledsre, ndther the ancient poets nor historians <;ar be 
tasted, or indeed understood, he does not mean to censure the 
pains that are taken to instruct a schoolboy in the reli§:ion of the 
heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture which 
teavei) him shamefully ig^norant of UU own. 



360 TIROCINIUM: OR, A 

His wild excursions, window breaking feats. 

Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 

His hairbreadth 'ecfpes, and all his daring schemes* 

Transport them, and are made their favourite themes. 

In little bosoms such achievenieuts strike 

A kindred spark: th< y bum to do the like. 

Thus half-accomplish d ere he yet begin 

To shew the peeping down up<m his chin; 

And, as maturity of 5 ears comes on. 

Made just th' adept tliat you design'd your son ; 

To ensure the perseverance of his covirse, 

And give your monstrous project all its force. 

Send him to college. If he there be tamed. 

Or in one article of vice reclaim'd, 

Where no regard of ordinance is shewn 

Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own. 

Some sneaking virtue lurks in him no doubt. 

Where neither strumpets' chai-ms, nor drinking-bout, 

Nor gambling-practices, can find it out. 

Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too, 

Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you : 

Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds. 

For public hthools 'tis public folly feeds. 

The slaves of custom and establish'd mode. 

With packhorse constancy we keep the road. 

Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells. 

True to the jingling of our leader's bells. 

To follow foolish precedents, and wink 

With both our eyes, is easier than to think: 

And such an age as ours balks no expense. 

Except of caution, and of common-sense : 

Else sure notorious fact, and proof so plain, 

Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 

I blame not those, who with what care they can, 

O'erwatch the numerous and unruly clan : 

Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare 

Promise a work, of which they must despair. 

Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, 

A ubiquarian presence and control, 

Elisha's eye, that, when Geliazi stray'd. 

Went with him, and saw all the game he play'df 

Yes — ^ye are coascious ; and on all the shelves 



REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. Sfl] 

Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves. 
Or if, by nature sober, ye had then, 
Boys as ye were, the gravity of men ; 
le kjiew at least, by constant proofs address'd 
To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. 
But ye connive at what ye cannot cure. 
And evils, not to be endured, endure. 
Lest power exerted, but without success. 
Should make the little ye retain still less. 
Ye once were justly famed for bringing forth 
Undoubted scholarship and genuine wortli ; 
And in the firmament of fame still shines 
A glory, bright as that of all the signs. 
Of poets raised by you, and statesmen, and divinea. 
Peace to them all I those brilliant times are lied. 
And no such lights are kindling in their stead. 
Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays 
As set the midnight riot in a blaze ; 
And seem, if judged by their expressive looks. 
Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. 

Say, Muse (for, education made the song. 
No Muse can hesitate, or linger long). 
What causes move us, knowing as we must. 
That these menageries all fail their tmst. 
To send our sons to scout and scamper there. 
While colts and puppies cost us so much care ? 

Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise. 
We love the play-place of our early days ; 
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone 
That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
The wall on which we tried our graving skill, 
The very name we carved subsisting still ; 
The bench on which we sat while deep employ 'd 
Though mangled,hack'd,andhew'd,notyetdegtro:j d 
The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot, 
Playing our games, and on the very spot ; 
As happy as we once, to kneel and draw 
The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw ; 
To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, 
Or -Irive it devious with a dexterous pat ; 
The pleasing spectacle at once exci«-e8 
Such recollection of our own deligbta 



a62 TIROCINIUM : OR, A 

That, viewing it, we seeia almost to obtain 
Our innocent sweet simple years aerain. 
This fond attachment to the well-kncwn place. 
Whence first we started into life's long race, 
Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway. 
We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day. 
Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share 
Of classic food begins to be his care, 
W^ith his own likeness placed on either knee. 
Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee ; 
And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks. 
That they must soon learn Latin and to box : 
Then turning he regales his listening wife 
With all the adventures of his early life ; 
His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, 
In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays ; 
What shifts he \ised, detected in a scrape. 
How he was flogg'd, or had the luck t' escape ; 
What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 
Watch, seals, and all — till all bis pranks are toid. 
Retracing thus his frolics ('tis a name 
That palliates deeds of folly and of shame), 
He gives the local bias all its sway ; 
Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall pla> 
And destines their bright genius to be shewn 
Just in the scene where he display'd his own. 
The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught 
To be as bold and forward as he ought ; 
The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, 
Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough 
Ah, happy designation, prudent choice, 
The event is sure ; expect it ; and rejoice ! 
Soon see your wish fulfill'd in either child, 
'khe pert made perter, and the tame made wild. 
The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth, 
Excuse the incumbrance of more solid worth. 
Are best disposed of where with most success 
They may acquire that confident address. 
Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, 
That scorn of all delights but those of sense. 
Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, 
With 80 mnrh reason all expect from them. 



REVIEW OF Si HOOLS. 363 

But families of less ilbistrious fame, 

Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, 

Whose heirs, their honours none, their income 

small, 
Must shine by true desert, or not at all, 
What dream they of, that with so little care 
They risk their hopes, their dearest treasura, there ' 
They dream of little Charles or William g^-aced 
With wig prolix, down flowing tJ his waist ; 
They see th' attentive crowds his talents draw. 
They hear him speak — the oracle of law. 
The father, who designs his babe a priest. 
Dreams him episcopally such at least ; 
And, while the playful jockey scours the room 
Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom. 
In fancy sees him more superbly ride 
In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. 
Events improbable and strange as these. 
Which only a parental eye foresees, 
A. public school shall bring to pass with ease. 
But how ? resides such virtue in that air. 
As must create an appetite for prater ? 
And will it breathe into him all the zeal. 
That candidates for such a prize should feel. 
To take the lead, and be the foremost still 
In all true worth and literai"y skill? 

* Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaught 
The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought 
Church-laddei-s are not always mounted best 
By learned clerks, and Latinists profess'd. 
The exalted prize demands an upward look. 
Not to be found by poring on a book. 
Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, 
Is more than adequate to all I seek. 
Let erudition grace him, or not grace, 
I give the bauble but the second place ; 
His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend. 
Subsist and centre in one point — a friend. 
A friend, whate'er he ^studies or neglects. 
Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. 
His intercourse with peers and sons of peers- 
There dawns the splendour of his future years ; 



364 TIROCINIUM : OR, A 

In that bright quarter his propitious skies 
Shall blush betimes, and there his clory ria*. 
Your Lordship, and Your Grace ! what school ci 

teach 
A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech 1 
What need of Homer's verse, or Tally's prose. 
Sweet inteijections ! if he learn but those ? 
Let rev'rend churls his ig:norance rebuke, 
Who starve upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch, 
The parson knows enough, who knows a duke.' 
Egregious purpose ; worthily beg-un 
In barbarous prostitution of your son ; 
Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace 
A scriv'ner's clerk, or footman out of place, 
And ending-, if at last its end be gain'd, 
In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned. 
It may succeed ; and, if his sins should call 
For more than common punishment, it shall ; 
The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth 
Least qualified in honour, learning, woith, 
To occupy a sacred, awful post. 
In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 
The royal letters are a thing of course, 
A k-ag, that would, might recommend his horse ; 
And deans, no doubt, and chapters, with one voict 
As bound in duty, would confirm the choice 
Behold your bishop ; well he plays his part. 
Christian in name, and infidel in heart. 
Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, 
A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man. 
Dumb as a senator, and as a priest, 
A piece of mere church furniture at best ; 
To live estranged from God his total scope. 
And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. 
\\\x* fair although and feasible it seem. 
Depend not much upon your golden dream 
For Providence, that seem's concern'd to exempt 
The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt, 
lu spite of all the wrigglers into place. 
Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace ; 
And therefore 'tis, that though the sight be rare 
We sometimes see a Lowtb or Bagot there. 



REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 365 

Besides, school-friendships are not always found, 
Though fair in promise, permanent and sound ; 
The most disinterested and virtuous minds. 
In early years connected, time \uibinds ; 
New situations give a diflerent cast 
Of habit, inclination, temper, taste ; 
And he that seem'd our couutei-part at first, 
Soon shews the strong- similitude reversed. 
Young- heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm 
And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 
Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown. 
Whose scent and hues are rather gniess'd than known , 
Each dreams that each is just what he appears, 
But learns his error in maturer years, 
When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 
Shews all its rents and patches to the world. 
If, therefore, e'en when honest in design, 
A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 
Twere wiser sure t' inspire a little heart 
With just abhon-ence of so mean a part. 
Than set your son to work at a vile trade 
For wages so unlikely to be paid. , 

Our public hives of puerile resort. 
That are of chief and most approved report, 
To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul, 
Owe their repute in part, hut not the whole. 
A principle whose proud pretensions pass 
Unquestion'd, though the jewel be hut glass 
That with a world not often over-nice. 
Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice ; 
Or rather a gross compound, justly tried 
Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride — 
Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fame ; 
And emulation is its specious name. 
Boys, once on fire with that contentiovis zeal, 
Feel all the rage that female rivals feel : 
The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes 
Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's priM. 
The spirit of that competition burns 
With all varieties of ills by turns ; 
Each vainly magnifies his o-^vn success. 
Resents his fellow's wishes it were less, 



S()(. I'lROClMl M: UK, A 

Exults ill his miscaiTiago if be fail, 
Dt-ems his reward too {iieat if he prevail, 
Ami laboui-s to sxu-pass him day and nijiht. 
Less for improvement than to tickle spite. 
The spur is powerful, and I iirant its force ; 
It pricks the (genius forward in its course, 
Allows short cime for play, and none for sloth: 
And, felt alike by each, advances both : 
But judge, where so much evil intervenes, 
The end, though plausible, not worth the meatus. 
\\'eif;h, for a moment, classical desert 
Against a heait depraved and temper hurt; 
Hurt too perhaps for life; for early wi-ong-, 
Done to the nobler part, afl'ects it lon^r ; 
And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause 
If you can crown a discipline, that draws 
Such mischiefs after it, with much applause. 

Connexion form'd for interest, and endear'd 
By selfish views, thus censured and cashier'd ; 
And emulation, as engendering hate, 
Doom'd to a uo less ignominious fate : 
The urops of such proud seminaries fall 
The Jachin and the IJoaz of tliem all. 
Great schools rejected then, as those that swell 
Beyond a size that can be managed well. 
Shall royal institutions miss the bays, 
And small academies win all the praise 1 
Force not my drift beyond its just intent; 
I praise a school as Pope a government : 
So take my judgment in his language dress'd, 
* Whate'er is best administer'd is best.' 
Few boys are born with talents that excel. 
But a/-e all capable of living well ; 
Then ask not, Whether linuted or large ? 
But, Watch they strictly, or neglect their 

charge i 
If anxious only that their boys may learn. 
While morais langriiish, a despised concern, 
The great a: d smaji deserve one common blame, 
Ditierent in size, but in efl'ect the same. 
Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers ' oast. 
Though motives of mere lucre sway the most; 



REVIEW OK SCHOOLS. 301 

Therefore in towns and cities they abound, 

For there the game they seek is easiest found ; 

Though there in spite of all that care can do, 

Traps to catch youth are most abundant too 

If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain. 

Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain, 

Your son come forth a prodigy of skill ; 

As, wheresoever taught, so foi-m'd he will , 

The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, 

Claims more than half the praise as his due share. 

But if, with all his genius, he betray. 

Not more intelligent than loose and gay, 

Such vicious habits as disgrace his name. 

Threaten his health, his fortune, and his fame ; 

Though want of due restraint alone have bred 

The s>-mptoms, that you see with so much dread ; 

Unenvied there, he may sustain alone 

The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. 

O 'tis a sight to be with joy pei-used. 
By all whom sentiment has not abused ; 
New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 
Of those who never feel in the right place ; 
A sight surpass'd by none that we can shew, 
Though Vesti-is on one leg still shine below ; 
A father bless'd with an ingenuous son. 
Father, and friend, and tutor, all in one. 
How! — turn again to tales long since forgot, 
iEsop, and Phaedrus, and the rest? — Why not? 
He will not blush, that has a father's heart. 
To take in childish plays a childish part ; 
But bends his sturdy back to any toy 
That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy ; 
Then why resign into a stranger's hand 
A task as much within your own command. 
That God and nature, and your interest too, 
Seem with one voice to delegate to you 1 
Why hire a lodging in a house unknown 
For one whose tenderest thoughts all hover round 
This second weaning, needless as it is, [your own t 
How does it lacerate both your heart and his 1 
The indented stick, that loses day by day 
Notch after notch, till all are smooth'd away, 



368 TIROCINIUM: OR, A 

Bears witness, long ere his dismission come. 

With what intense desire he wants his home. 

But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof 

Bid fail- enough to answer in the proof, 

Harmless and safe, and natural, as they are, 

A disappointment waits him even there : 

Arrived, he feels an unexpected change, 

He hlusnes, hangs his head, is shy and strange ; 

No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease, 

His favoiirite stand between hi.« father's knees, 

But seeks the corner of some distant seat. 

And eyes the door, and watches a reti'eat ; 

And least familiar where he should le most, 

Feels all his happiest privileges lost. 

Alas, poor boy ! — tlie natural effect 

Of love by absence chill'd into respect, 

Say, what accomplishments at school acquired, 

Brings he, to sweeten fruits so undesired? 

Thou well deservest an alienated son. 

Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none , 

None that, in thy domestic snug recess. 

He had not made his own with more add ress, 

Though some perhaps, that shock tliy feeling mind, 

And better never learu'd, or left behind. 

Add too, that, thus estranged, thou canst obtain 

By no kind arts his confidence again ; 

That here begins with most that long complaint 

Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint, 

Which, oft neglected, in life's waning years 

A parent pours into regardless ears. 

Like caterpillars, dangling under trees 
By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 
Which filthily bewray and sore disgi-ace 
The boughs in which are b -ed th' unseemly race ; 
j I While every worm industriously weaves 

I j And winds his web about the rivell'd leaves ; 

I So numerous are the follies, that annoy 

! I The mind and heart of every sprightly boy ; 

i j Imaginations noxious and perverse, 

i i Which admonition can alone disperse. 

j j Th* encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand, 

I Ptttieut, affectionate, of high command, 



REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. SCO 

To check the procreation of a breed 

Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 

'Tis not enough, that Greek or Roman page. 

At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage; 

E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend. 

To warn, and teach him safely to unbend; 

O'er all his pleasures gently to preside. 

Watch his emotions, and control their tide ; 

And levying thus, and with an easy sway. 

A tax of profit from his very play, 

T' impress a value, not to be erased, 

On moments squander'd else, and running all to 

waste. 
And seems it nothing in a father's eye. 
That unimproved those many moments fly? 
And is he well content his son should find 
No nourishment to feed his growing mind. 
But -conjugated verbs, and nouns declined? 
For such is all the mental food purvey'd 
By public hackneys in the schooling trade ; 
Who feed a pupil's intellect with store 
Of syntax, truly, but with little more ; 
Dismiss their cares when they dismiss their flock. 
Machines themselves, and goveni'd by a clock. 
Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains. 
Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains, 
To improve this diet, at no gi-eat expense. 
With savoury truth and wholesome common sense •. 
To lead his son, for prospects of delight. 
To some not steep, though philosophic height. 
Thence to exhibit to his wondering eyes 
Yon circling worlds, their distance, and their size , 
The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball. 
And th' harmonious order of them all ; 
To shew him in an insert or a flower 
Such microscopic prcof of skill and power. 
As, hid from ages past, God now displays. 
To combat atheists with in modem days ; 
To spread the earth before him, and commend 
With designation of the finger's end. 
Its various parts to his attentive note. 
Thus bringing home to him the most remo*^ ; 

Q2 « 



370 TIROCINIUM: OR, A 

To teach his heart to glow with generous flain« 

Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame : 

And, more than all, with commendation due. 

To set some living worthy in his view, 

Whose fair example may at once inspire 

A wish to copy what he must admire. 

Such knowledge, gain'd betimes, and which appears, 

Though solid, not too weighty for his years. 

Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport, 

When health demands it, of athletic sort. 

Would make him — what some lovely boys have been, 

And more than one perhaps that I have seen — 

An evidence and reprehension both 

Of the mere schoolboy's lean and tardy growth. 

Art thou a man professionally tied. 
With all thy faculties elsewhere applied. 
Too busy to intend a meaner care, 
Than how t' enrich thyself, and next thine heir ; 
Or art thou (as, though rich, perhaps thou art^ 
But poor in knowledge, having none t' impart : 
Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad ; 
His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad ; 
Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 
Heard to articulate like other men ; 
No jester, and yet lively in discourse ; 
His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force • 
And his address, if not quite French in ease, 
Not English stiflf, but frank, and form'd to please 
Low in the world, because he scorns its arts ; 
A man of letters, manners, morals, parts ; 
Unpatronized, and therefore little known ; 
Wise for himself and his few friends alone — 
In him thy well-appointed proxy see, 
Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee ; 
Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth. 
To form thy son, to strike his genius forth; 
Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove 
The force of discipline, when back'd by love; 
To double all thy pleasure in thy child. 
His mind inform'd, his morals undefiled. 
Safe under such a wing, the boy shall shew 
No spots co])+racted among grooms below, 



MEVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 371 

Nor taint his speech with meannesses, design'd 

By footman Tom for witty and refined. 

There, in his commerce with the liveried herd 

Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd ; 

For since (so fashion dictates^ a)I, who claim 

A higher than a mere plebeian fame, 

Find it expedient, come what mischief may 

To entertain a thief or two in pay 

(And they that can afford the expense of more, 

Some half a dozen, and some half a score). 

Great cause occurs, to save him from a bajid 

So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand ; 

A point secured, if once he be supplied 

With some such Mentor always at his side. 

Are such men rare f Perhaps tliey would abound 

Were occupation easier to be found. 

Were education, else so sure to fail, 

Conducted on a manageable scale. 

And schools, that have outlived all just esteem. 

Exchanged for the secvire domestic scheme. — 

But having found him, be thou duke or earl. 

Shew thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl, 

And, as thou wouldst the advancement of thine 

heir 
In all good faculties beneath his care. 
Respect, as is but rational and just, 

A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 

Despised by thee, what more can he expect 

From youthfid folly than the same neglect ? 

A flat and fatal negative obtains 

That instant upon all his future pains ; 

His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend. 

And all the instructions of thy son's best frien(fl 

Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end. 

Doom him not then to solitary meals ; 

But recollect that he has sense, and feels; 

Ajad that, possessor of a soul refined. 

An upright heart, and cultivated mind. 

His post not mean, his talents not unknown« 

He deems it hard to vegetate alone. 

And, if admitted at thy board he sit, 

Account him no just mark for idle v/it ; 



872 TIROCINIUM: OR, A 

Offend not him, whom modesty restrains 
From repartee, with jokes that he disdains ; 
Much less transfix his feelings with an oath ; 
Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth. — 
And, trust me, his utility may reacli 
To more than he is hired or bound to teach ; 
Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone. 
Through reverence of the censor of thy son. 

But, if thy table be indeed unclean, 
Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene, 
And thou a wretch, whom following her old plan. 
The world accounts an honourable man, 
Because forsooth thy courage has been tried, 
And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side; 
Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove 
That any tiling but vice could v/in thy love — 
Or hast thou a polite, card-playing-wife, 
Chain'd to the routs that she frequents for life ; 
Who, just when industi-y begins to snore, 
Flies, wing'd with joy, to some coacii-crowded door ; 
And thrice in every winter throngs thine own 
Wi^i half the chariots and sedans in town, 
Tljyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou may'stj 
Not very sober though, nor very chaste ; — 
Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank. 
If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank. 
And thou at best, and in thy soberest mood, 
A trifler vain, and empty of all good ? 
Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none. 
Hear nature plead, shew mercy to thy son. 
Saved from his home, where every day brings forth 
Some mischief fatal to his future worth. 
Find him a better in a distant spot. 
Within some pious pastor's humble cot. 
Where vile example (yours I chiefly mean. 
The most seducing, and the oftenest seen) 
May never more be stamp'd xipon his breast. 
Not yet perhaps incurably impress'd. 
Where early rest makes early rising sure, 
Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure, 
Prevented much by diet neat and plain ; 
Or, if it enter, soon starved out agaiu " 



REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 373 

Where all th' attention of his faithful host. 
Discreetly limited to two at most, 
May raise such fruits as shall reward his care, 
And not at last evaporate in air : 
Where, stillness aiding- study, and his mind 
Serene, and to his duties much inclined 
Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home 
Of pleasures past, or follies yet to come. 
His virtuous toil may terminate at last 
In settled habit and decided taste.— 
But whom do I advise ? the fashion led, 
The incorrigibly wrong:, the deaf, the dead, 
Whom care and cool deliberation suit 
Not better much than spectacles a brute ; 
Who, if their sons some slight tuition share, 
Deem it of no great moment whose, or where ; 
Too proud t' adopt the thoughts of one unknown, 
And much too gay t' have any of their own. 
' But courage, man!' methought the Muse replied, 
* Mankind are various, and the world is wide : 
The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind. 
And form'd of God without a parent's mind, 
Commits her eggs incautious to the dust, 
Forgetful that the foot may crush the tnist ; 
And, while on public nurseries they rely, 
Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why. 
Irrational in what they thus prefer, 
No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. 
But all are not alike. Thy warning voice 
May here and there prevent erroneous choice ; 
And some perhaps, who, busy as they are. 
Yet make their progeny their dearest care 
(Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may reach 
Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach), 
Will need no stress of argument t' enforce 
The expedience of a less adventurous course : 
The rest will slight thy counsel, or condemn : 
But they have human feelings ; turn to them.' 

To you, then, tenants of life's middle state. 
Securely placed between the small and great. 
Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains 
Two-thirds of all the virtue that remains : 



_l 



374 TIROCINIUM : OR, A 

Who, wise yourselves, desire your son should leant 

Your wiiidom and your ways — to you I turn. 

Look round you on a world perversely Wind; 

See what contempt has faH'n on human kind ; 

See wealth abused, and dignities misplaced. 

Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced. 

Long: lines of ancestry, renown'd of old. 

Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold, 

See Bedlam's closetted and hand-cufF'd charge 

Sui-pass'd in frenzy by the mad at large ; 

See great commanders making war a trade. 

Great lawyers, lawyers without study made; 

Churchmen, in whose esteem their bless'd employ 

Is odious, and their wages all their joy ; 

Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves 

With Gospel lore, turn intidels themselves ; 

See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed 

With infamy too nauseous to be named. 

Fops at all corners, lady-like in mien, 

Civetted fellows, smelt ere they ai'e seen ; 

Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue 

On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung ; 

Now flush'd with drunkenness, now with whoredom 

pale. 
Their breath a sample of last night's regale : 
See volunteers in all the vilest arts, 
Men well endow'd, of honourable parts, 
Design'd by Natwe wise, but self-made fools ; 
All these, and more like these, were bred at schools 
And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will. 
That though school-bred, the boy be virtuous still, 
Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark. 
Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark: 
As here and there a twinkling star descried 
Serves but to shew how black is all beside. 
Now look on him, whose very voice in tone 
Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own. 
And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red. 
And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head, 
And say, ' My boy, the unwelcome hour is come. 
When thou, transplanted from thy genial home> 
Must find a colder soil and bleaker air. 
And trust for safety to a stranger's care ; 



REVIEW OP SCHOOLS 375 

What character, what turn thou wilt asbome 

From constant converse with I know not whom ; 

Who there will court thy friendship, with Avhat view^s 

And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose ; 

Though much depends on what thy choice shall be 

Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me.' 

Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids. 

And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids, 

Free too, and under no constraining force, 

Unless the sv/ay of custom wai-ji thy course ; 

Lay such a stake upon the losing side. 

Merely to gratify so blind a guide ? 

Thou canst not ! Nature, pulling at thine heart. 

Condemns the unfatherly, the imprudent part. 

Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tenderest plea 

Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea. 

Nor say, Go thither, conscious that there lay 

A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way ; 

Then, only govem'd by the self-same rule 

Of natural pity, send him not to school. 

No — guard him better. Is he not thine own, 

Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone 1 

And hop'st thou not ('tis every father's hope) 

That since thy strength must with thy years elope 

And thou wilt need some comfort, to assuage 

Health's last farewell, a staff in thine old age. 

That then, in recompense of all thy cares. 

Thy child shall shew respect to thy gray hairs; 

Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft. 

And give thy life its only cordial left? 

Aware then how much danger intervenes. 

To compass that good end, forecast the means. 

His heart, now passive, yields to thy command \ 

Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand. 

If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide, 

Nor heed what g-uests there enter and abide. 

Complain not if attachments lewd and base 

Supplant thee in it, and >i8iirp thy place. 

But if thou guard its sacied chambers sure 

Prom vicious inmates, and delights impure* 

Either his giatitude shall bold him fast. 

And keep him warm and filial to the last* 



S76 TIROCINIUM. 

Or, if he prove unkind, (as wlio can say 
But being man, and therefore frail, he raaryty 
One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart ; 
Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. 

Oh, barbarous ! wouldst thou with a Gothic hand 
Pull do-wn the schools — what ! — all the schools i' th 

land; 
Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms. 
Or turn them into shops and auction-rooms ? — 
A captious question, sir (and yours is one). 
Deserves an answer similar or none. 
Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ 
(Apprized that he is such) a careless boy. 
And feed him well, and give him handsome pay. 
Merely to sleep, and let them run astray? 
Survey our schools and colleges, and see 
A sight not much unlike my simile. 
From education, as the leading cause, 
The public character its colour draws ; 
Thence the prevailing manners take their cast. 
Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. 
And though I would not advertise them yet. 
Nor write on each — This building to be let, 
Unless the world were all prepared to embrace 
A plan well-worthy to supply their place ; 
Yet, backward as they are, and long have been 
To cultivate and keep the morals clean, 
(For^ve the crime) I wish them, I confese, 
Or iMtter managed, or encouraged le«i 



377 



THE REVEREND MR. NEWTON. 

An invitation into the Country. 

The swallows in their torpid state 
Compose their useless wing, 

And bees in hives as idly wait 
The call of early Spring. 

The keenest frost that binds the stream 
The wildest wind that blows, 

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them. 
Secure of their repose. 

But man, all feeling and awake, 

The gloomy scene sui'veys ; 
With present ills his heart must ache. 

And pant for brighter days. 

Old Winter, halting o'er the mead. 

Bids me and Mary mourn ; 
But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head. 

And whispers your return. 

Then April, with her sister May, 
Shall chase him from the bowers. 

And weave fresh garlands every day. 
To crown the smiling hours. 

And if a tear, that speaks regret 

Of happier times, appear, 
A glimpse of jjy, that we have met. 

Shall shine, and dry the tear. 



as 



378 

CATHARINA. 

ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON, 

(afterward MRS. COCRTNEY.) 

She came — she is gone — we have met — 

And meet perhaps never again ; 
The sun of that moment is set. 

And seems to have risen in vain. 
Catharina has fled like a dream — 

(So vanishes pleasure, alas I) 
But has left a regret and esteem, 

That will not so suddenly pass. 

The last evening ramble we made, — 

Catharina, Maria, and I, 
Our progress was often delay'd 

By the nightingale warbling nigh. 
We patised under many a tree. 

And much she wa^ charm'd with a tone 
Less sweet to Maria and me. 

Who so lately had witness'd her own. 
My numbers that day she had sung, 

And gave them a grace so divine, 
As only her musical tongue 

Could infuse into numbers of mine. 
The longer I heard, I esteem'd 

The work of my fancy the more. 
And e'en to myself never seem'd 

So tuneful a poet before. 

Though the pleasures of London exceed 

In number the days of the year, 
Catharina, did nothing impede. 

Would feel herself happier here : 
For the close-woven arches of limes 

On the banks of our river, 1 know. 
Are sweeter to her many times 

Than aught that the city can shew 



THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 379 
So it is, when the mind is endued 

With a well-judging taste from above ; 
Then, whether embellish'd or rude, 

'Tis nature alone that we love. 
The achievements of art may amuse, 

May even our wonder excite ; 
But groves, hills, and valleys, diffuse 

A lasting, a sacred delight. 
Since then in the rural recess 
Catharina alone can rejoice. 
May it still be her lot to possess 

The scene of her sensible choice! 
To inhabit a mansion reraoto 

From the clatter of street-pacing steeds. 
And by Philomel's annual note 

To measure the life that she leads : 
With her hook, and her voice, and her lyre, 

To wing all her moments at home ; 
And with scenes that new rapture inspire, 

As oft as it suits her to roam ; 
She will have just the life she prefers 

With little to hope or to fear, 
And ours would be pleasant as hers. 
Might M'e view her enjoyin§r it here. 



THE 

MORALIZER CORRECTED. 
A TAI E. 

A Hermit (or if chance you hold 
That title now too trite and old), 
A man, once young, who Uved retired 
As hermit could have well desired, 
lUs hours of study closed at last. 
And hnisji'd his concise repast; 



980 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 
Stoppled his cruise : replaced his book 
Within its customary nook, 
And, staff in hand, set forth to share 
The sober cordial of sweet air. 
Like Isaac, with a mind applied 
To serious thought at ev'ning-tide. 
Autumnal rains had made it chill, 
And from the trees that fringed his hill, 
Shades slanting at the close of day, 
Chill'd more his el.«e delightful way. 
Distant a little mile he spied 
A western bank's still sunny side, 
And right toward the favour'd place 
Proceeding with his nimblest pace. 
In hope to bask a little yet. 
Just reach'd it when the sun was set. 
Your hermit, young and jovial sirs! 
Learns something from whate'er occurs- 
And hence, he said, my mind computes 
The real worth of man's pursuits. 
His object chosen, wealth or fame. 
Or other sublunary game. 
Imagination to his view 
Presents it deck'd with every hue. 
That can seduce him not to spare 
His powers of best exertion there. 
But youth, health, vigour to expend 
On so desirable an end. 
Ere long approach life's evening shadeS) 
The glow, that fancy gave it, fades ; 
And eam'd too late, it wants the grace 
That first engaged him in the chase. 

True, answer'd an angelic guide, 
Attendant at the senior's side — 
But whether all the time it cost, 
To urge the fruitless chase be lost. 
Must be decided by the worth 
Of that which call'd his ardour forth. 
Trifles pursued, whate'er the event. 
Must cause him shame or discontent ; 
A vicious object still is worse. 
Successful there he wins a curse ; 



THE FAITHFUL BIRD. 881 

But he, whom e'en in life's last sttyje. 
Endeavours laudable engage, 
Is paid, at least in peace of mind. 
And sense of having well design'd : 
And if, ere he attain his end. 
His sun precipitate descend, 
A brighter prize than that he meant 
Shall recompense his mere intent. 
No virtuous wish can bear a date 
Either too early or too late. 



THE FAITHFUL BIRD. 

The greenhouse is my summer seat ; 
My shrubs displaced from that retreat 

Eiijoy'd the open air: 
Two goldfuiches, wliose sprightly song 
Had been their mutual solace long. 

Lived happy prisoners there. 

They sang, as blithe as finches sing, 
That flutter loose on golden wing. 

And frolic where they list ; 
Sti-angers to liberty, 'tis true. 
But that delight they never knew, 

And therefore never miss'd. 

But nature works in every breast. 
With force not easily suppress'd ; 

And Dick felt some desires. 
That, after many an effort vain. 
Instructed him at length to gain 

A pass between his wires. 

The open windows seem'd t' invite 
The freeman to a farewell flight ; 

But Tom was still coniined ; 
And Dick, although his way was cl%tati 
Was much too gen'rous and sincere. 

To leave his friend behind. 



l-ME NEEDLESS ALARM. 

So settling on bis cage, by play, 
And cbirp, and kiss, he seera'd to say 

You must not live alone — 
Nor would he quit that chosen stand 
Till I with slow and cautious hand, 

Retum'd bim to his own. 

O ye, who never taste the joys 
Of friendship, satisfied with noise, 

Fandanyo, ball, and rout ! 
Blush, when I tell you how a bird, 
A prison with a friend preferr'd 

To liberty without. 



THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 



There is a field, tlirough which I often pasa. 
Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, 
Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood. 
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,. 
Reserved to solace many a neighbouring 'squire, 
That he may follow them through brake and brier 
Contusion hazarding of neck, or spine 
Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. 
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd 
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field; 
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head, 
But now wear crests of oven-wood instead ; 
And where the land slopes to its watei-y bourn. 
Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn ; 
Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago, 
And horrid brambles intertwine below ; 
A hollow scoop'd, I iudge, in ancient time. 
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. 

Nor yet the hawthorn bore her beiTies red. 
With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed; 
Nor Autumn yet had brush 'd from every spray. 
With her chill band, the mellow leaves away ; 



THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 383 

But com was boused, and beans were in the stack; 
Now therefore issued forth the spotted pact, 
With tails high mounted, ears hung- low, and throats, 
tVith a whole gamut iiU'd of heavenly notes, 
For which, alas! my destiny severe, 
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. 

The sun, accomplishing his early march, 
His lamp nov planted on Heaven's topmost arch, 
When exercise and air my only aim, 
And heedless whither, to that field I came. 
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound 
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found. 
Or with the high-raised horn's melodious clang- 
All Kilwick* and all Dinglederry* rang. 

Sheep grazed the field ; some with soft bosom press'd 
The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest ; 
Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook. 
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. 
All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd, 
'o me their peace by kind contagion spread. 

Bvit when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 
'Gan make his iristi-unient of music speak. 
And from within the wood that crash was heard. 
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd. 
The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that grazed. 
All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed, 
Admiring, terrified, the novel sti-ain. 
Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round 

again ; 
But, recollecting with a sudden thought, 
That flight in circles urged advanced them nought, 
They gather'd close around the old pit's brink. 
And thought again — but knew not what to think 

The man to solitude accustom'd long 
Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue ; 
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees 
Have speech for him, and understood with ease ; 
After long drought, when rains abundant fall. 
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ; 
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies. 
How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; 
* Tvo woods belonfring to Sir Irhn Throckmortoa 



3S4 THE NEEDLKSS ALARM. 

But, with precision nicer still, the mind 

He scans of every locomotive kind ; 

Birds of all feather, beasts of every name, 

That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame ; 

The looks and gestures of their griefs aiid fears 

Have all articulation iu his ears ; 

He spells them true by intuition's light, 

And needs no glossary to set him right. 

This truth premised, was needful as a text, 
To win the credence to what follows next. 

Awhile they mused ; surveying every face, 
Thou hadst supposed them of superior race ; 
Their pen'iwigs of wool, and fears combined, 
Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind. 
That sage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt. 
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ; 
Or academic tutors, teaching youths. 
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; 
When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, 
A ram, the ewes and wethers thus addres.s'd : 

Friends ! we have lived too long. I never heard 
Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. 
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent 
In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent. 
And from their prison-house below arise. 
With all these hideous bowlings to the skies, 
1 could be much composed, nor should appear. 
For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear. 
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roU'd 
All night, me resting quiet in the fold. 
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, 
I could expound the melancholy tone ; 
Should deem it by our old companion made. 
The ass ; for he, we know, has lately stray'd. 
And being lost perhaps, and wandering wide. 
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide. 
But, ah ! those dreadf.d yells what soul can hear 
That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear? 
Demons produce them doubtless ; brazen claw'd 
And fang'd with brass the demons are abroad : 
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit. 
That, life to save, we leap into the pit. 



BOADICEA. 885 

Him answer'd then his loving mate and true. 
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. 

Howl leap into the pit our life to save? 
To save our life leap all into the grave ? 
For can we find it less? Contemplate first 
The depth how awful ! falling there, we hurst ; 
Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall 
In part abate, that happiness were small : 
For with a race like theirs no chance I see 
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. 
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray. 
Or be it not, or be it whose it may. 
And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues 
Of demons utter'd, from whatever lungs. 
Sounds are but sounds ; and till the cause appear, 
We have at least commodious standing here. 
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast 
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last. 

While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals. 
For Reynard, close attended at his heels 
By panting dog, tired man, and spatter'd horse. 
Through mere good fortune, took a different coune 
The flock grew calm again ; and I, the road 
Following, that led me to my own abode. 
Much wonder'd that thi^ silly sheep had found 
Such cause of terror in an empty sound, 
So sweet to hxmtsman, gentleman, and hound. 

MORAL. 

Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, 
Lire till to morrow, will have pass'd away. 



BOADICEA. 

AN ODE. 

When the Biitish warrior queen, 
Bleeding from the Roman roda. 

Sought, with an indignant miek, 
Counsel of her country's god*; 
R 



2b 



8S0 BOADICKA. 

Sage beueatli the spreading oak 

Sat the Di-uid, hoary chief; 
Every hurning word he spoke 

Full of rage and fu\l of grief 
Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wronigtta 
Tis because resentment ties 

AU the terrors of our tongues. 
Rome shall perish — write that word 

In the blood that she has spilt ; 
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd. 

Deep in ruin as in guilt. 
Rome, for empire far renown'd. 

Tramples on a thousand states ; 
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-^ 

Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates I 
( ther Romans shall arise 

Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 

Harmony the path to fame. 
Then the protrcny that springs 

From the forests of our land, 
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings. 

Shall a wider world command. 
Regions Caesar never knew 

Thy posterity' shall sway ; 
Where his eagles never flew. 

None invincible as they. 
Such the bard's prophetic words 

Pregnant with celestial lire. 
Bending as he SAvept the chorda 

Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
She, with all a monarch's pride. 

Felt them in her bosom glow : 
Rush'd to battle, fought and died; 

Dying hurl'd them at the foe. 
Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 

Heaven awards the vengeance Av»z 
Empire is on us bestow'd, 
Shune and ruin wait for you 



HEROISM. 

Thsbb was a time when Etna's silent fire 
Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire; 
When, conscious of no danger from below. 
She tower'd a cloud-capp'd p>Tamid of sno'w. 
No thunders shook with deep intestine sound 
The blooming groves that girdled her around 
Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines 
(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines). 
The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured, 
In peace upon her sloping sides matured. 
When on a day, like that of the last doom, 
A conflagration labouring in her womb. 
She teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth, 
ITiat shook the circling seas and solid earth. 
Dark and voluminous the vapoui-s rise. 
And hang their horrors in the neighbouring skies. 
While through the Stj-gian veil that blots the day. 
In dazzUng streaks the vivid lightnings play. 
But, oh I what muse, and in what powers of song. 
Can trace the torrent as it bums along ? 
Havoc and devastation in the van. 
It marches o'er the prostrate works of man ; 
Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear. 
And all the charms of a Sicilian year. 

Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass, 
See it an uninform'd and idle mass ; 
Without a soil t' invite the tiller's care. 
Or blade, that might redeem it from despair. 
Yet time at length (what will not time achieve ?) 
Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade. 
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
O bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats, 
O charming paradise of short-lived sweets! 
The self-same gale, that wafts the fragrance roaadt 
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : 
Again the mountain feels the imprison'd foe. 
Again pours ruin ou the vale below. 



388 HFROISM. 

Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, 
That only future ages can restore. 

Ye monarchs, wliom the lure of honour draws, 
Who write in blood the merits of your cause, 
Who strike the blow, then plead your owti defence, 
Glory your aim, but justice your pretence ; 
Behold in jEtna's emblematic fires, 
The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ! 

Fast by the stream, that bounds jour just domain, 
And tells you where ye have a rii;ht to reign, 
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, 
Studious of peace, their ueighboux-s' and tlieir owis. 
Ill-fated race ! how deeply must they rue 
Their only crime, vicinity to youl 
The trumpet sounds, your legions svv-arm alroaa. 
Through the ripe harvest lies tlieir destined i-oad ; 
At every step beneath their feet they tread 
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ! 
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
Before them, and behind a wilderness. 
Famine, and Pestilence, her lirst-born sen, 
Attend to finish what the sword begun ; 
And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn, 
And Folly pays, resound at your return. 
A calm succeeds — but Plenty, with her tniin 
Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again. 
And years of pining indigence must shew 
What scourges are the gods that rule below. 

Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees 
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease) 
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil. 
Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil, 
Rebuilds the towers, that smoked upon the plain, 
And the sun giids the shining spires again. 

Increasing commerce and reviving art 
Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part; 
And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more. 
That wealth within is rmn at the door. 
Whai hrv ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes say. 
But ^tnas of the suffering world ye sway ? 
Swe«t Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd roto 
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ; 



MY MOTHER'S i'lCTURE. 38^ 

And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar. 
To prove you there destroyers as ye are. 

O place me in some Heaven-protected isle. 
Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile; 
Where no volcano pours his fiery flood. 
No crested warrior dips his plume in blood : 
Where Power secures what Industry has won ; 
Where to succeed is not to be undone : 
A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain, 
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign! 



OM THE RECEIPT OP MY MOTHER'S PICTURE, OCT OP 
NORFOLK ; THE GIFT OP MY COUSIN ANN BODHi M. 

O THAT those lips had language 1 Life has pass'd 
With me but roughly since 1 heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see. 
The same, that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
* Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away I' 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Bless'd by the art that can immortalize, 
The art that baflSes Time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song. 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 

1 will obey, not willingly alone, 

But gladly as the precept were her own : 
And, while that face renews my filial grief. 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief. 
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
A momentary dream that tLou art she. 

My mother ! when I leam'd that thou wast dead 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed 1 
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son. 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? 



390 ON THE RECEIPT OP 

Perliaps thou gavsst me, though unfelt, a kiss: 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in blias — 

Ah that maternal smile ' It answers — Yes. 

I heard the bell toU'd on thy burial day, 

I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away. 

And, turning from my nursery window, drew 

A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 

But was it such 1 — It was. — Where thou art gone, 

Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting word shall pass my lips no more ' 

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 

Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 

What ardently I wish'd I long believed. 

And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 

By expectation every day beguiled, 

Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 

Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. 

Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 

I learn'd at last submission to my lot ; 

But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day. 
Drew me to school along the public way. 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd 
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 
'Tis now become a history little known. 
That once we call'd the pastoral house our own. 
Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there. 
Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced 
A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid i 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home. 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheek bestow'd 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd ; 
AH this, and more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall. 



MY MOTHERS PICTURE. 391 

Ne'er roughen 'd by those cataracts and hrealu, 

That humour interposed too often makes ; 

All this stiU legible in memory's page, 

And still to be so to my latest age, 

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 

Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; 

Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere. 

Not scorn'd in heaven, though little noticed here. 

Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours^ 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers. 
The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
I prick'd them into paper with a pin 
(And thou wast happier than myself the while 
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile). 
Could those few pleasant days again appear. 
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here t 
I would not trust my heart — the dear delight 
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 
But no — ^what here we call our life is such 
So little to be loved, and thou so much. 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms aU weather'd and the ocean cross'd) 
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle. 
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile. 
There sits quiescent on the flood, that shew 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below. 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Aroimd her, fanning light her streamers gay ; 
So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reach'd the shore, 
• Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,'* 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain the rest. 
Always from port withheld, always distress'd — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest toss'd. 
Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lo0ty 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 



392 FRIENDSHIP 

Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and bel 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents pass'd into the skies. 
And now, farewell — Time unrevoked has run 
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. 
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, 
Without the sin of violating thine : 
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free 
And I can view this mimic show of thee. 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

What virtue, or what mental grace 
But men unqualified and base 

Will boast it their possession ? 
Profusion apes the nobler part 
Of liberality of heart, 

And dulness of discretion. 

If every polish'd gem we find. 
Illuminating heart or mind. 

Provoke to imitation ; 
No wonder friendship does the same, 
That jewel of the purest flame. 

Or rather constellation. 

No knave but boldly will pretend 
The requisites that form a friend, 

A real and a soimd one ; 
Nor any fool, he would deceive. 
But prove as ready to believe. 

And dream that he had found one. 



FRIENDSHIP. 39 J 

Candid, and genernus, and just. 
Boys care but little whom they trust, 

An error soon corrected — 
For who but learns in riper years. 
That man, when smoothest he appears. 

Is most to be suspected ? 

But here again a danger lies. 
Lest, having misapplied our eyes. 

And taken trash for treasure. 
We should unwarily conclude 
Friendship a false ideal good, 

A mere Utopian pleasure. 

An acquisition rather rare 
Is yet no subject of despair ; 

Nor is it wise complaining. 
If either on forbidden ground, 
Or where it was not to be found. 

We sought without attaining. 

No friendship will abide the test. 
That stands on sordid i*2terest. 

Or mean self-love erected ; 
Nor such as may awhile subsist. 
Between the sot and sensualist. 

For vicious ends connected. 

Who seek a friend should come dispooeo? 
To exhibit in full bloom disclosed. 

The graces and the beauties, 
That form the character he seeks. 
For 'tis a union, that bespeaks 

Reciprocated duties. 

Mutual attention is implied 
And equal truth on either side. 

And constantly supported; 
Tis senseless arrogance t' acciu^ 
Another of sinister views. 

Our own as much distorted 
R S 



894 FRIENDSHIP. 

But will sincerity suffice 1 
It is indeed aboye all price. 

And must be made the haaia t 
But every virtue of the soul 
Must constitute the charming wlioI«« 

All shining in their places^ 

A fretful temper will divide 

The closest knot that may be tied. 

By ceaseless, sharp corrosion ; 
A temper passionate and fierce 
May suddenly your joys disperse 

At one immense explosion. 

'n vain the talkative unite 

In hopes of permanent delight — 

The secret just committed. 
Forgetting its important weight. 
They drop through mere desire to prate. 

And by themselves outwitted. 

How bright soe'er tne prospect seems, 
AH thoughts of friendship are but dreams^ 

If envy chance to creep in ; 
An envious man, if you succeed. 
May prove a dangerous foe indeed. 

But not a friend worth keeping. 

As envy pines at good possess'd. 
So jealousy looks forth distress'd 

On good, that seems approaching; 
And, if success his steps attend. 
Discerns a rival in a friend. 

And hates him for encroaching. 

Hence authors of illustiioua namei 
Unless belied by common fame. 

Are sadly prone to quaiTel, 
To deem the wit a friend displays 
A tax upon their owii iust praise 

And pluck each other's la^irel. 



FRIENDbHIP. SOS 

A man renown'd for repartee 
Will seldom scruple to make free 

With friendship's finest feeling, 
Will tbriHt a d=^ger at your breast, 
And say he vm"i<ded you in jest 

By way of balm for honling-. 

Whoever keeps an open ear 
For tattlers, will be sure to hear 

The trumpet of contention : 
Aspersion is the babbler's trad. 
To listen is to lend him aid. 

And rush into dissension. 

A friendship, that in frequent fits 
Of controversial rage emits 

The sparks of disputation, 
Like Hand-in-hand insurance plates. 
Most unavoidably creates 

The thought of conflagration. 

Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
True as a needle to the pole. 

Their humour yet so various — 
They manifest their whole life through 
The needle's deviations too. 

Their love is so precarious. 

The great and small but rarely meet 
On terms of amity complete ; 

Plebeians must surrender 
And yield so much to noble folk. 
It is combining fire with smoke. 

Obscurity with splendour. 

Some are so placid and serene 
(As Irish bogs are always green) 

They sleep secure from waking 
And are indeed a o'>g, that bears 
Your tmparticipR*ea cares 

Unmoved and witJ-.out quaking 



806 iHlli'MUSiJip. 

Courtier and patriot cannot taix 
Their heterogeneous politv^ 

Without an effervescence. 
Like that of salts with lemon-juice. 
Which does not yet like th^c produce 

A friendly coalescence. 

Religion should extinguish strife, 
And make a calm of human life : 

But friends that chance to differ 
On points which God has left at large. 
How freely will they meet and charge i 

No combatants are stiffer. 

To proTe at last my main intent 
Needs no expense of argument, 

No cutting and contriving — 
Seeking a real friend we seem 
To adopt the chymist's golden dream, 

With still less hope of thriving. 

Sometimes the fault is all our own, 
Some blemish in due time made known 

By trespass or omission ; 
Sometimes occasion brings to light 
Our friend's defect, long hid from sight, 

And even from suspicion. 

Then judge yourself, and prove your mas 
As circumspectly as you can, 

And, having made election. 
Beware no negligence of yours. 
Such as a friend but ill endures, 

Enfeeble his affection. 

That secrets are a sabred trust. 

That friends should be sincere and ju»t 

That constancy befits them. 
Are observations on the case, 
Th at savour much of common-place. 

And all the world admits them. 



FRIENDSHIP. Qfff 

But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone. 
An architect requires alone. 

To finish a fine building- - 
The palace were but half complete. 
If he could possibly forget 

The carving and the gilding. 

The man that hails you Tom or Jack, 
A.nd proves by thumps upon youi- bach 

HoAv he esteems your merit. 
Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed. 

To pardon or to bear it. 

As similarity of mind. 

Or something not to be defined. 

First fixes our attention ; 
So manners decent and polite. 
The same we practised at first sight. 

Must save it from declension. 

Some act upon this prudent plan, 
' Say little, and hear all you can.' 

Safe policy, but hateful — 
So barren sands imbibe the shower, 
But render neither fi-uit nor flower 

Unpleasant and ungrateful. 

The man I trust, if shy to me. 
Shall find me as reserved as he; 

No subterfuge or pleading 
Shall win my confidence again; 
I will by no means entertain 

A spy on my proceeding. 

These samples— for alas! at last 
These are but samples, and a taste 

Of evils yet unmention'd — 
May prove the task a task indeed 
In which 'tis much if we succeed 

However well-intention'd. 



ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL. 

Pursue the search, and you will find 
Good sense and knowledge of mankind 

To be at least expedient ; 
And, after summing all the rest. 
Religion ruling in the breast 

A principal ingredient. 
The noblest friendship ever shewn 
The Saviour's history makes known, 

Though some have tum'd and tum'd it: 
And, whether being crazed or blind. 
Or seeking with a bias'd mind, 

Have not, it seems, discern'd it. 
O, Friendship, if my soul forego 
Thy dear delights while here below ; 

To mortify and grieve me. 
May I myself at last appear 
Unworthy, base, and insincere, 

Or may my friend deceive me I 



A MISCHIEVOUS BULL. 

which the owner of him sold at the 
author's instance. 

Go— thou art all unfit to share 

The pleasures of this place 
With such as its old tenants are. 

Creatures of gentler race. 

The squirrel here his hoard provides. 

Aware of wintry storms, 
And woodpeckers explore the sides 

Of rugged oaks for worms. 

The sheep here smoothes the knotted thorn. 

With frictions of her fleece ; 
And here I wander eve and mom. 

Lake her a friend to peace. 



ANNUS MEMORABILIS. 
Ah I- -I could pity thee exiled 

From this secure retreat — 
I would not lose it to be styled 

The happiest of the great. 
But thou canst taste no calm delight; 

Thy pleasure is to shew 
Thy magnanimity in fight. 

Thy prowess — therefore go— 
I care not whether east or north. 

So I no more may find thee ; 
The angry Muse thus sings thee forth, 

And claps the gate behind thee. 



ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. 

WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S 
HAPPy RECOVERY. 

I ransack'd, for a theme of song. 

Much ancient chronicle, and long ; 

I read of bright embattled fields, 

Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields. 

Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast 

Prowess to dissipate a host : 

Through tomes of fable and of dream 

I sought an eligible theme, 

But none I found, or found them shared 

Already by some happier bard. 

To modem times, with Truth to guide 
My busy search, I next applied ; 
Here cities won, and fleets dispersed. 
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed. 
Deeds of unperishing renown. 
Our fathers' triumphs and our own. 

Thus, as the bee, from bank to bower j 
Assiduous sips at every flower. 
But rests on none, till that be found, 
Where most nectareous sweets abotuidt 
So I from theme to theme display'd 



400 ANNUS MEMORABILIS. 

In many a page historic stray'd. 
Siege after siege, iigbt after fight. 
Contemplating with small delight 
(For feats of sanguinary hue 
Not always glitter in my view) ; 
Till settling on the current year 
I found the far-sought n-easure near 
A theme for poetry divine, 
A theme to ennoble even mine, 
In memorable eighty-nine. 

The spring of eighty-nine shall be 
An era cherish'd long by me, 
Which joyful I will oft record. 
And thankful at my frugal board; 
For then the clouds of eighty-eight, 
That threaten'd England's trembling state 
With loss of what she least could spare, 
Her sovereign's tutelary care. 
One breath of Heaven, that cried— Restore I 
Chased, never to assemble more : 
And far the richest crown on earth. 
If valued by its wearer's worth. 
The symbol of a righteous reign. 
Sat fast on George's brows again. 

Then peace and joy again possess'd 
Our Queen's long-agitated breast ; 
Such joy and peace as can be known 
By sufferers like herself alone, 
Who losing, or supposing lost. 
The good on earth they valued most, 
For that dear sorrow's sake forego 
All hope of happiness below, 
Then suddenly regain the prize. 
And flash thanksgivings to the skies! 

O, Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! 
Since all thy tears were changed to smilefl. 
The eyes, that never saw tliee, shine 
With joy not unallied to thine. 
Transports not chargeable with art 
Illume the land's remotest part, 
And strangers to the air of courts. 
Both in their toils and at their sports. 



HYMN. 401 

The happiness of answer'd prayers. 
That gilds thy features, shew in theirs. 
If they, who on thy state attend. 
Awe-struck, before thy presence hand 
Tis but the natural effect 
Of grandeur that ensures respect ; 
But she is something more than queen 
Who is beloved where never seen. 



HYMN, 

FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL 
AT OLNEY. 

Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer. 

In heaven thy dwelling-place. 
From infants made the public care. 

And taught to seek, thy face. 

Thanks for thy word, and for thy day, 

And grant us, we implore. 
Never to waste in sinful play 

Thy holy sabbaths more. 

Thanks that we hear, — ^but O impart 

To each desires sincere. 
That we may listen with our heart. 

And learn as well as hear ! 

For if vain thoughts the minds engage 

Of older far than we. 
What hope, that, at our heedless age. 

Our minds should e'er be free 1 

Much hope, if thou our spirits take 

Under thy gracious sway. 
Who canst the wisest wiser make. 

And babes as wise as they. 

Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, 

A sun that ne'er declines. 
And be thy mercies shower'd on those. 

Who placed us where it shines. 



402 



STANZAS 



kVBJOINED TO THE 'SEARLT BILI OF MORTALITT 

OF THE FARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON;* 

FOR THE YEAR 1787. 



Pallida Mors aequo pulsat pede paupet im tabernas, 
Regunique turres. — Hor. 

Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door 
Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor. 

While thirteen moons saw smoothly run 

The Nen's harge-laden wave, 
All these, life's ramhling- journey done, 

Have found their home, the grave. 

Was man (frail always) made more frail 

Than in foregoing years 1 
Did famine or did plagiie prevail, 

That so much death appears 1 

No : these were vigorous as their sires. 
Nor plague not famine came ; 

This annual tribute Death requii-es, 
And never waives his claim. 

Like crowded forest-trees we stand. 

And some are mark'd to fall ; 
The axe will smite at God's command. 

And soon shall smite us all. 

Green as the hay-tree, ever gi-een. 

With its new foliage on, 
The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, 

I pass'd — and they were gone. 

Read, ye that run, the awful truth. 
With which I charge my page ; 

A worm is in the bud of youth. 
And at the root of age. 

• Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northaniptan 



BILL OP MORTALITY. iOS 

No present health can health ensure 

jfor yet an hour to come ; 
No med'cine, though it oft can ciire. 

Can always balk the tomb. 

And O .' that humble as my lot, 

And scom'd as is my strain. 
These truths, though known, too much forgot 

I may not teach in vain. 
So prays your clerk, with all his heart, 

AJid ere he quits the pen. 
Begs you for once to take his part, 

And answer all — Amen I 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

FOR THE YEAR 1788. 

Quod adest, memento 
Componere sequus. Catera liuminis 
Ritu feruntur. — Hor. 
Improve the present hour, or all beside 
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide. 

Could I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage 
To whom the rising year shall prove his last. 
As I can number in my punctual page. 
And item down the victims of the past ; 
How each would trembling wait the mournful sheett 
On which the press might stamp him next to die ; 
And, reading- here his sentence, how replete 
With anxious meaning, heavenward tura his eye ! 
Time then would seem more preciovis than the joys 
In which he sports away the treasure now ; 
And prayer more seasonable than the noise 
Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. 

Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brint 
Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, 
Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think. 
Told that his setting sur must rise no more. 



404 BILL OF M()RTA.LlTr. 

Ah, 8elf-decei>ed ! Could 1 prophetic say 
Who next is fated, and who next to fall, 
The rest might then seem privileged to play ; 
But naming- 7ione, the voice now speaks to AL.U 
Observe the dappled foresters, how light 
They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade- • 
One fall*— the rest, wide-scatter'd with affright. 
Vanish at once into the darkest shade. 
Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd. 
Still need repeated warnings, and at last, 
A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd. 
Die self-accused of life run all to waste 7 

Sad waste 1 for which no after-thrift atones . 
The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin ; 
Dew-drops may deck the turf, that hides the bones. 
But tears of godly grief ne'i-e flow within. 

Learn then, ye liv-ing! by the mouths be taught 
Of all these sepulchres, instructoi-s true. 
That, soon or late, death also is your lot. 
And the next opening grave may yawn for you. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

FOR THE YEAR 1789. 

— Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. ^Virg. 
There calm at length he breathed his soul away. 

* O MOST delightful hour by man 

Experienced here below. 
The hour that terminates his span, 
His folly, and his woe ! 

• Worlds should not bribe me back to tread 

Again life's dreary wadte. 

To see again my day o'erspread 

With all the gloomy past. 



BILL OF MORTALITY. 405 

* My home henceforth is in the skie»— 

Earth, seas, and sun adieu ! 
All heaven unfolded to my eyes, 

I have no sight for 5?ou.' 
bo spake Aspasio, firm possess'd 

Of faith's supporting rod. 
Then breath'd his soul into its rest 

The bosom of his God. 
He was a man among the few 

Sincere on virtue's side ; 
And all his strength from Scripture drew. 

To hourly use applied. 
That rule he prized, by that he fear'd. 

He hatc»J, hoped, and loved ; 
Nor ever frownd, or sad appear'd. 

But when his heart had roved. 
For he was frail, as thou or I, 

And evil felt within : 
But, when he felt it, heaved a sigh 

And loath'd the thought of sin. 
Such lived Aspasio ; and at last 

Call'd up from earth to heaven. 
That gulf of death triumphant pass'd, 

By gales of blessing driven. 
His joys be mhie, each reader cries 

When my last hour arrives ; 
They shall be ycurs, my Verse replies. 
Such only be your lives. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

FOR THE YEAR 1790. 

Ne comnionentera recta sperne. -Buchantm, 
Despige not my good couosel. 
He who sits from day to day. 

Where the prison'd lark is hvmg, 
Ueedless of his loudest lay. 

Hardly knows what he has raag. 



406 BILL OF MORTALITT. 

Where the watchman in his roiuid 

Nightly lifts his voice on high. 
None, accustoni'd to the sound. 

Wakes the sooner for his cry. 

So your verse-man I, and clerk. 
Yearly in my song proclaim 

Death at hand — yourselves his mark-<° 
And the foe's unerring aim. 

Duly at my time I come. 

Publishing to all aloud — 
Soon the grave must be your home, 

And your only suit, a shroud. 

But the monitory sti'ain. 

Oft repeated in your ears, 
Seems to sound too much in vain. 

Wins no notice, wakes no fears. 

Can a truth, by all confess'd 
Of such magnitude and weight, 

Grow, by being oft impress'd. 
Trivial as a parrot's prate 1 

Pleasure's call attention wins. 

Hear it often as we may ; 
New as ever seem our sins. 

Though committed every day. 

Death and Judgment, Heaven and HelV- 

These alone, so often heard, 
No more move us than the bell. 
When some stranger is interr'd. 

O then, ere the turf or tomb 

Cover us from every eye. 
Spirit of instruction come, 

Make us learn that we must die. 



BILL OF MORTALITY. 407 

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

FOR THE YEAR 1792. 



Felix, qui potuit reruni cognoscere causas, 

Atque metus omnes et iiiexorabile fatiim 

Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Aclierontis avari ! — Virf, 

Happy the mortal, who has traced effects 

To tlieir first cause, cast fear beneath his feet. 

And Death, and roanng' Hell's voracious tires ! 



Thankless for favours from on high, 

Man thinks he fades too soon. 
Though tis his privilege to die, 

Would he improve the boon. 

But he, not wise enough to scan 

His bless'd concerns aright, 
Would gladly stretch life's little span 

To ages if he might. 

To ages in a world of pain, 

To ages, where he goes, 
Gall'd by alfliction's heavy chain. 

And hopeless of repose. 

Strange fondness of the human heart, 

Enamour'd of its harm ! 
Strange world ! that costs it so much smazt 

And still has power to charm. 

Whence has the world her magic power ? 

Why deem we death a foe ? 
Recoil from weary life's best hour. 

And covet longer woe 1 

The cause is Conscience — Conscience oft 

Her tale of guilt renews : 
Her voice is terrible though soft. 

And dread of death ensues. 

Then, anxious to be longer spared, 
Man mourns his fleeting breath : 

jknd evils then seem light, compared 
With the approach of Death. 



408 BILL OF MORTALITY. 

Tis judgment shakes him ; there's the 

That prompts the wish to stay : 
He has incuiT'd a long arrear. 

And must despair to pay. 

Pay ! — follow Christ, and all is paid ; 

His death yowx peace ensures ; 
Thidc on the gTave where he was laid. 

And calm descends to yours. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

FOR THE YEAR 1793. 

De sacris autem haec sit una sentcntia, ut conserveiihif. 

Cic. de Le§ 
But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that thing* 
sacred be ijiviolate. 

He lives, who lives to God alone. 

And all are dead beside ; 
For other source than God is none 

Whence life can be supplied. 

To live to God is to requite 

His love as best we may ; 
To make his precepts our delight, ' : 

His promises our stay. 

But life, within a narrow ring 

Of giddy joys comprised, 
Is falsely named, and no such thing. 

But rather death disg-uised. 

Can life in them deserve the name. 

Who only live to prove 
For what poor toys they can disclaim 

An endless life above ? 

Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel; 

Much menaced, nothing dread ; 
Have wounds which only God can 

Yet never ask his aid? 



BILL OF MORTALITY. 409 

Who deem his house a useless place, 

Faith, want of common sense ; 
And ardour in the Christian race, 

A hypocrite's pretence ? 

Who trample order ; and the day. 

Which God asserts his own. 
Dishonour with unhallow'd play. 

And worship chance alone 1 

If scorn of God's commands, impress d 

On word and deed, imply 
The better part of man unbless'd 

With life that cannot die; 

Such want it, and that want, uncured 

Till man resigns his hreath. 
Speaks him a criminal assured 

Of everlasting death. 

Sad period to a pleasant course ! 

Yet so will God repay 
Sabbaths profaned without remorse. 

And mercy cast away 



INSCRIPTION 

FOB 

THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. 

Pause here, and think: a monitory rh3rme 
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time. 

Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding' vein ; 
Seems it to say — * Health here has long to reign f 
Hast thou the vigoxir of thy youth? — an eye 
That beams delight ; a heart untaught to sigh ? 
Yet fear. Youth, oft-times healthful and at ease, 
Anticipates a day it never sees ; 
And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud 
Exclaims, ' Prepare thee for an early shroud.' 
S 



410 



EPITAPH ON A HARE. 

Here lies, whom hoirnd did ne'er piiniM 
Nor swifter greyhound follow, 

Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew. 
Nor ear heard hxaitsman's halloo. 

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind. 
Who, ntirsed with tender care. 

And to domestic hounds confined, 
Was still a wild Jack-hare. 

Though duly from my hand he took 

His pittance every night, 
He did it with a jealous look, 

And, when he could, would hit*. 

His diet was of wheaten bread, 
And milk, and oats, and straw ; 

Thistles, or lettuces instead, 
With sand to scour his maw. 

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled ; 

On pippins' russet peel, 
And, when his juicy salads fail'd, 

Sliced carrot pleased him well 

A Turkey carpet was his lawn. 

Whereon he loved to bound, 
To skip and gambol like a favm. 

And swing his rump around. 

His frisking was at evening hours. 

For then he lost his fear. 
But most before approaching showers. 

Or when a storm drew near. 

Eight years and fire round rolling mooiui 

He thus saw steal away. 
Dozing out all his idle noons. 

And every night at play. 

I kept him for his humour's sake. 

For he would oft beguile 
My heart of thoughts, that made it ach«. 

And force me to a smile. 



EPITAPH ON A HARE. 411 

But now beneath his walnut shade 

He finds his long last home. 
And waits, in snug concealment laid, 

Till gentler Puss shall come. 

He, stiU more aged, feels the shocks 

From which no care can save. 
And, partner once of Tiney's box, 

Must soon partake his grave. 



EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM. 

Hie etiam jacet. 

Qui totiim novennium vixit. 

Puss. 

Siste paulisper. 

Qui prajteriturus es, 

Et tecum sic reputa :— 

Hunc neque canis venaticus. 

Nee plumbum missile, 

Nee laqueus, 

Nee imbres uimii, 

Confecere : 

Tamen mortuus est— 

Et moriar ego. 



The follou'ing account of the treatment of his Hares 
was inserted by Mr. Cowper in the Gentleman',' 
Magazine, whence it is transcribed : 

In the year 1774, being much indisposed both in mind 
and body, incapable of diverting myself either with 
company or books, and yet in a condition that made 
some diversion necessary, I was glad of any thing 
that would engage my attention, without fatiguing it. 
The children of a neighbour of mine had a leveret 
given them for a plaything; it was at th&t time 
about three months old. Understanding better how 
to tease the poor creature than to feed it, and soon 
becoming weary of their charge, they readily con- 
Mnted that their father, who saw it pining and grow- 



412 

Ing leaner every day, should offer it to my accept 
ance. I was willing enoufih to take the prisoner 
under my protection, perceiving that, in the manage 
ment of sm-h an animal, and in the attempt to tame 
it, I should find just that sort of employment which 
my case required. t was soon known among the 
neighbours that I was pleased with the present ; and 
the consequence was, that in a short time I had 
as many leverets offered to me as would have stocked 
a paddock. I undertook the care of three, which it 
is necessary that I should here distingniish by the 
names I gave them — Puss, Tiney, and Bess. Not- 
withstanding the two feminine appellatives, I must 
inform you that they were all males. Immediately 
commencing carpenter, I built them houses to sleep 
in; each had a separate apartment, so contrived that 
their ordure would pass through the bottom of it ; an 
earthen pan placed under each received whatsoever 
fell, which being duly emptied and washed, they 
were thus kept perfectly sweet and clean. In the 
day time they had the range of a hall, and at night 
retired each to his own bed, never intruding into 
that of another. 

Puss grew presently familiar, would leap into ray 
lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the 
hair from ray temples. He would suffer me to take 
him up, and carry him about in my arras, and has 
more than once fallen fast asleep upon ray knee. He 
was ill three days, during which tirae I nursed hira, 
and kept him apart from his fellows, that they might 
not molest him (for, like many other wild animals, 
they persecute one of their own species that is sick), 
and by constant care, and trying him with a variety 
of herbs, restored him to perfect health. No crea- 
ture could be more grateful than my patient after his 
recovery ; a sentiment which he most significantly 
expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it, 
then the palm, then every finger separately, then be- 
tween all the fingers, as if anxious to leave no part 
of it imsaluted ; a ceremony which he never per- 
formed but once again upon a similar occasion. 
Finding him extremely tractable, I made it my cuis- 



413 
torn to carry hitn always after breakfast into th# 
garden, where he hid himself generally under the 
leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or chewing the 
cud till evening : in the leaves also of that vine he 
found a favourite repast. I had not long habituated 
him to this taste of liberty, before he began to be 
impatient for the return of the time when he might 
enjoy it. He would invite me to the garden by 
drumming upon my knee, and by a look of such ex. 
pression, as it was not possible to misinterpret. If 
this rhetoric did not immediately succeed, he would 
take the skirt of my coat between his teeth, and pull 
at it with all his force. Thus Puss might be said to 
be perfectly tamed, the shyness of his nature was 
done away, and on the whole it was visible by many 
symptoms, which I have nbt room to enumerate, that 
he was happier in human society, than when shut 
up with his natxiral companions. 

Not soTiney : upon him the kindest ti-eatment had 
not the least effect. He too was sick, and in his sick- 
ness had an equal share of ray attention ; but if, after 
his recovery, I took the liberty to sti-oke him, he 
would grunt, strike with his fore-feet, spring for- 
ward, and bite. He was, however, very entertaining 
in his way ; even his surliness was matter of mirth ; 
and in his play he preserved such an air of gravity, 
and performed his feats with such a solemnity of 
manner, that in him too I had an agreeable com- 
panion. 

Bess, who died soon after ne was full grown, and 
whose death was occasioned by his being tunied into 
his box, which had been washed, while it was yet 
damp, was a hare of great humour and drollery. 
Puss was tamed by gentle usage ; Tiney was not to 
be tamed at all ; and Bess had a courage and con- 
fidence that made him tame from the beginning. I 
always admitted them into the parlour after supper, 
when, the cai-pet affording their feet a firm hold, 
they would frisk, and bound, and play a thotusand 
gambols, in which Bess, being remarkably strong 
and fearless, was always superior to the rest, and 
proved himself the Vestiis of the party. One evea- 



414 

ing the cat, being in the room, liad the hardiness to 
pat Bess upon the cheek, an indignity which he 
resented by di-umniing- upon her back with such 
violence, that the cat was happy to escape from under 
his paws, and hide herself. 

I describe these animals as having each a character 
of his own. Such they were in fact, and their coun- 
tenances were so expressive of that character, that, 
when I looked only on the face of either, I imme 
diately knew which it was. It is said, that a shep- 
herd, however numerous his flock, soon becomes so 
familiar with their features, that he can, by that 
indication only, distinguish each from all the rest ; 
and yet to a common observer, the difference ia 
hardly perceptible. I doubt not that the same dis- 
crimination in the cast of countenances would be 
discoverable in hares, and am persuaded that among 
a thousand of them, no two could be found exactly 
similar: a circumstance little suspected by those 
who have not had an opportunity to observe it. 
These creatures have a singular sagacity in dis- 
covering the minutest alteration that is made in the 
place to which they are accustomed, and instantly 
apply their nose to the examination of a new object. 
A small hole being bunit in the carpet, it was 
mended with a patch, and that patch in a moment 
underwent the strictest scmtiny. They seem too to 
be very much directed by the smell in the choice of 
their favourites : to some persons, though they saw 
them daily, they could never be reconciled, and 
would even scream when they attempted to touch 
them ; but a miller coming in engaged their affec- 
tions at once ; his powdered coat had charms that 
were irresistible. It is no wonder that my intimate 
acquaintance with these specimens of the kind has 
taught me to hold the sportsman's amusement in ab- 
horrence ; he little knows what amiable creatures he 
persecutes, of what gratitude they are capable, how 
cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoyment 
they have of life, and that, impressed as they seem 
•with a peculiar dread of man, it is only because msn 
gives them pecxiliar cause for it. 



415 

That 1 may not be tedious, I will just ^ve a short 
summary of those articles of diet that suit them 
best. 

I take it to be a general opinion that they ^aze, 
but it is an erroneous one, at least ^ass is not their 
staple ; they seem rather to use it medicinally, soon 
quitting it for leaves of almost any kind. Sow- 
thistle, dandelion, and lettuce, are theii- favourite 
vegetables, especially the last. I discovered by 
accident, that fine white sand is in great estimation 
with them ; I suppose as a digestive. It happened 
that I was cleaning a bird-cage while the hares were 
with me : I placed a pot filled with such sand upon 
the floor, which being at once directed to by a strong 
instinct, they devoured voraciously ; since that time 
I have generally taken care to see them well 
supplied with it. They account green com a de- 
licacy, both blade and stork, but the ear they seldom 
eat : straw of any kind, especially wheat-straw, is 
another of their dainties ; they will feed gi-eedily 
upon oats, but if furnished with clean sti'aw never 
want them ; it serves them also for a bed, and, if 
shaken up daily, will keep sweet and dry for a con- 
siderable time. They do not indeed require aro- 
matic herbs, but will eat a small quantity of them 
with great relish, and are particularly fond of the 
plant called musk ; they seem to resemble sheep in 
this, that, if their pasture be too succulent, they are 
very subject to the rot ; to prevent which, I always 
made bread their principal nourishment, and, filling 
a pan with it cut into small squares, placed it every 
evening in their chambers, for they feed only at 
evening and in the night: during tlie winter, when 
vegetables were not to be got, I mingled this mess 
of bread with shreds of carrot, adding to it the rind 
of apples cut extremely thin ; for, though they are 
fond of the paring, the apple itself disgusts them. 
These however not being a sufiicient substitute for 
the juice of summer herbs, they must at this time be 
supplied with water; but so placed, that they cannot 
overset it in their beds. I must not omit, that occa- 
sionally they are much pleased with twigs of haw* 



416 

thorn, and of the common brier, eating eyen the 
very wood when it is of considerable thickness. 

Bess, I have said, died young; Tine y lived to be 
nine years old, and died at last, I have reason to 
think, of some hurt in his loins by a fall ; Puss is 
still living, and has just completed his tenth year, 
discovering no signs of decay, nor even of age, 
except that he is grown more discreet, and less 
frolicsome than he was. I cannot conclude without 
observing, that I have lately introduced a dog to his 
acquaintance, a spaniel that had never seen a hare, 
to a hare that had never seen a spaniel. I did it 
with great caution, but there was no real need of it. 
Puss discovered no token of fear, nor Marquis the 
least symptom of hostility. There is, therefore, it 
should seem, no natural antipathy between dog and 
hare, bat the pursuit of the one occasions the flight of 
the other, and the dog pursues because he is trained 
to it: they eat bread at the same time out of the 
same hand, and are in all respects sociable and 
friendly. 

I should not do complete justice to my subject, did 
I not add, that they have no ill scent belonging to 
them; that they are indefatigably nice in keep- 
ing themselves clean, for which purpose nature has 
furnished them with a brush under each foot ; and 
that they are never infested by any vermin 
May 28, 1784. 

Memorandum found among Mr. Cowper's papers. 

Tuesday, March 9, 1786. 
This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years, eleven 
*jiontbs. He died between twelve and one at noon, 
of mere old age, and apparently without pain. 



r^ 




^o^^* 



for a lodge in. soiXLe Arast ^wilderness , 
Some homiclless con±igiu-t\' of sliade , 
"Wh-ere r-imxc^u'" of oppressioia aiid deceit, 
Of luxsrucce^sful or sv..cces,sful -«'nr 
Miglit n.ever x'eaelxajie xuore. 



THE 

COMPLETE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

WILLIAM COWPER, Esq., 

INCLUDING THE HITMNS AND TRANSLATIONS FROM 
MADAME OUION, MILTON ETC., 

k.9a 

ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA; 

l-ROM THE ITALIAN OF OIO. BATTISTA ANDREINI. 

WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 

BY THE 

REV. H. STEBBING, A. M. 

IN TWO VOLUMES, 
VOL. II. 



NEW Y R K • 

D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY 

1852. 



PART IL 

CONTAINING 

HYMNS: 

TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUION 

TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON: 

MINOR POEMS: 

AND 

ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA; 

raOM THB ITALIAN OP OIO. BATTISTA ANDRBINI. 



CONTENTS OF PART SECOND. 

OOXTAIMNG hymns: translations from 7fADAMB OVlOHt 
TUANSLATIONS FROM MILTON: AND MINOR POTMS. 



HYMNS. 

I. Walking with God .... 

II. Jehovah-Jireh. The Lord will provide 

1 1 i. Jeliovah-Rophi. 1 am the Lord that healetl 

IV. Jeiiovah-Nissi. The Lord my Banner 

V. Jeliovah-Shalom. The Lord send Peace 

VI. Wisdom 

VH. Vanity of the Vt'oi Id . 
VIM. O Lord, i will praise thee . . 
IX. The contrite Heart 
X. The future Peace and Glory of the ChurcL 
XI. Jehovah our Risrhteousness 
Xll. Ephralm repenting . . . 

XI I I. Tiie Covenant . . • • 

XIV. Jehovuh-Shammah . . . 
XV. Praise for the Fountain opened 

XVI. The Sow^r 

XVII. The House of Prayer . 
XVllI. Lovestthou me! .... 
XIX. Contentment .... 

XX. Old Testament Gospel 

XXI. Sardis 

XXII. Prayer for a Blessing ... 
XXIII. Pleadiiie: for and with Youth 
XX IS'. Prayer for Children . 
XXV. Jehovah Jesus .... 
XXVI. On opening a Place for social Prayer 
XXVII, Welcome to the Table 
XXVIII. Jesns hasting to Suffer , 

XXIX. Exhortation to Prayer 
XXX. The Light and Glory of the Word 
XXXI. On the Death of a Minister . 

XXaII. The shining Light 

XXXIII. Seeking the befoved . . . 

XXXIV. Light shining out of Darkness . 
XXXV. Welcome Cross .... 

XXXVI. Mflictions sanctified by the Word 

XXXVII. Temptation 

XXX VIM. Looking upwards in a Storm 

XXXIX. The Valley of the Shadow of Death 

X L. Peace after a Storm . . 

XLI. Monrning and Longing . « 

XLII. Self-acquaintance . . • 

XLIII. Prayer for Patience . . • 

XLIV. Submission 

XLV. The happy Change 
XLVI. ReUremen 



Page 

I 

3 

ib. 

3 

4 

» 

6 

7 

ib. 

8 

9 

10 

ib. 

II 







. .^ 


. Joy and Peace in beliering . 




. . 38 
. 39 


The Christian 

Lively Hope and Gracious Fear . 

For the Poor 

My Soul thirsteth for God . . 
Love constraining' to Obedience 
The Heart healed and changed by 


. . . Jb. 

. 40 
. - 41 
. 42 

. . . ib. 
Mercy . . 43 

, . .44 


The new Convert 

True and false Comforts . 

A living and a dead Faith 

Abuse of the Gospel 

The narrow Way . . . . 

Dependence .... 

Not of Works 

Praise for Faith 

Grace and Providence . 
. I will pnns«the Lord at all times 
• The waiting soul . . . 
of a Hymn .... 




. . ib. 

. 45 
. 46 
. 47 
. ib. 
48 
. 43 
. il). 
. 6C 

. . ib. 
. 61 

. . JU. 



XLVII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 

L. 

LI. 

HI. 

LIH. 

LIV. 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 

LVIII. 

LIX. 

LX. 

LXI. 

LXII. 

LXlll. 

LXIV. 

LXV. 

LXVL 

LXVII 

Frag:ment 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME UK 
LA MOTHE GUION. 

The Nativity 

God neither known nor loved by the World 

rhe Swallow 

The Triumph of Heavenly Love desired 

A Figurative Descrii)tioii of the Procedure of D 

K Child of God longing to see him beloved • 

Aspirations of the isoul afrer God . 

Gratitude and Love to God 

Happy Solitude— Unhappy Men • . • 

Living Water 

Truth and Divine Love rejected by the World 
Divine J iistice amiable ..... 
The Soul that loves God finds him every where 
The Testimony of Divine Adoption . . 

Divine Love endures no rival , , 

Self-Diffidence , 

The Acquiescence of Pure Love • • • . . . T2 

Repose in God .»...73 

Glory to God alone . ........ ib. 

Self-Lo/e and Truth incompatible . . 

The Love of God, the End of Life 

Love faithful in the Absence of the Belored , . . . ib. 

Love pure and fervent ..••,••.77 

The entire Surrender ..»..••. ib. 

The perfect Sacrifice 78 

God hide* his People , . lb. 

The Secrets of Divine Love are to be kept .... 79 
The Vicissitudes experienced in the Christian Llfo . . 83 
Watching unto God in the Night Season .... 87 
On the same ....... . . 88 

On the same 

The Joy of the Cross 91 

Jojr In Martyrdom .... . . . . M 



CONTENIS. V 

Simple Trust . 9* 

The Necessity of Self-Abasement 95 

Love increased by Suffering: »S 

Scenes favourable to MediUtioo »8 



TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN AND ITAUAN POEMS 
OF MILTON. 



E.ea^y I. Charles DeodaU .... 

Eley^y 1 1. On the Death of the University Beadle atCambrid}?* 
EleL'v III. On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester 
Eiesry IV. To his Tutor Thomas Young 



Eleiry V. On the Approach of Spring 

Ele-v VI. To Charles DeodaU .... 

Elegy VI I 

Epigrams. On the Inventor of Guns . . . 
To Leonora singing at Rome 

To the same 

The Cottager and his Landlord. A Fable 
To Christina, Queen of Sweden, with Cromwell's Piil 
On the Death of the Vice-Chancel lor, a Physician 
On the Death of the Bishop of Ely ... 

Nature unimpaired by Time 

On the Platonic Idea as it was understood by Aristotle 

To his Father 

To Siilsillus, a Roman Poet, much indisposed 
To Giovanni Buttista Manso, Marquis of Villa 

On the Death of Damon 

An Ode, addressed to Mr. John Rouse, Librarian of 
University of Oxford ..... 

Sonnet—' Fair Lady! whose harmonious name' . 
Sonnet— 'As on a hill-top rude, when closing day' 
Canzone — ' They mock my toil— the nymphs and' 
Sonnet— To Charles Deorfati .... 

Sonnet — ' Lady ! it cannot be but that thine eyes* 
Sonnet—' Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground' 

Simile in Paradise Lost .... 
Translation of Dryden's Epigram on Milton 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 



TheThracian i-is 

Reciprocal Kindness the Primary Law of Nature . . ib. 

A Manual more ancient than the Art of Printing . . l.'.o 

An Enigma—' A needle, small as small can be' . . 152 

Sparrowi self-domesticated in Trinity College, Cambridge . 153 

Familiarity dangerous IS4 

Imitation to the Redbreast . ib. 

Strada's Nightingale , . ISS 

Ode on the Death of a Lady, who Ured 100 yeaw • . .158 

The Cause won . . « 157 

The Silkworm 158 

The Innocent Thief . I5» 

Denner'* Old W^omu .lb. 



fl CONTt.NTS. 

The Tears of a Painter 160 

The Maze * ISl 

No Sorrow peculiar to the Sufferer ib. 

The Snail 163 

The Cantab 163 

Oa the Picture of a Sleeping: Child . , . . . ib 



MINOR POEMS. 

Ter»es written at Bath, on findina: the Heel of a Shoe . 104 
An Ode, on reading Richardson'^s History of Sir Charles 

Grandison 165 

An Epistle to Robert Llov(J, Esq 166 

The FifUi Satire of the First Book of Horace . . .169 
The Ninth Satire of the First Book of Horace . • .174 

A Tale, founded on a Fact, which happened in Jan. 1779 . 178 

To tlie Rev. Mr. Newton, on his Return from Rams^te ^ lao 

Love Abused ib. 

A Poetical Epistle to Lady Austen 181 

The Colubriad 184 

On Friendship I8j 

On the Lowt of the Royal George 190 

In Submersionem Navigii, cui Georgius Regtile Nonien 

indittini 191 

Song. On Pciice iOi 

Song. 'When all within is peace' . . . . .193 

Verses selected from an Occasional Poem entitled Valediction 194 

In Hrevitiiteni Vir« Spatii Honiinibus Concessi . . . 195 

On the Shortness of Human Life 196 

Epitupli on Dr. Johnson ib. 

Vo :\Iiss C , on her Birthday 197 

Gnilitude ib. 

Lims composed for a Memorial of Ashley Cowper, Esq. . 199 

On the Queen's Visit to London ib. 

The Cockfighter's Garland 202 

To Warren Hastings, Esq 204 

Verses to the Memorj' of Dr. Lloyd 205 

The Same in English 206 

To Mi"s. Throckmorton ib. 

To tile Immortal Memory of the Halibut, on which I dined 207 

Inscription for a Stone 208 

Another 209 

To Mrs. King , . . ib. 

Translation ot an Epigram of Homer 210 

' Memory of the late John Thornton, Esq. . . .211 

r. ..e Four Ages 212 

The Retired Cat 214 

The Judgment of the PoeU 217 

Yardley Oak 218 

To the Nightingale 222 

Lines written in an Album of Miss More's . . . 223 

Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq 224 

Epigram — ' To purify their wine some people bleed' . • Ihk 

To Dr. Austin, cf Cecil Street, London . . . . ib. 

Catharina : on her Marriage to Geore-e Conrtenay, Esq. . S2S 



l/Th 



Epitaph on Fop, a dog belonging to Lady Throckmorton . 2M 

Sonnet to George Romney, Esq 327 

Mary and John Ifc 

r.ptta]>h on Mr. Chaster, of Chlcheley ... 493 



CwNTE.N rs. *« 

Pago 

To mv Cousin, Ann Bodhain 228 

Inscription for a Hermitage in the Author's Garden , . ib. 

To Mrs. Unwin 229 

To Joint Johnson, on his presenting me with an Antique Bust 

of Homer lb. 

To a Youn«; Friend 230 

A Tale - ib. 

On a Spaniel, called Beau, killing a young Bird . . .233 

Beau's Reply . ib. 

To William Hayley, Eso. 234 

Answer to Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss 

Catharine Fanshawe 235 

On Flaxman's Penelope ib. 

To the Spanish Admiral Count Gravina . . . . ib. 

To Mary . . . . 23« 

Montes Glaoiales, in Oceano Germanico Natantes . . 237 

On the Ice Islaiida, seen floating in the German Ocean . 239 

TheCas-taway 240 

The Salad, by Virgil 242 

To Sir Joshua Reynolds 210 

On the Author of Letters on Literature . . . .248 

Stanzas on the late indecent Liberties taken with the Renialns 

of Milton. Anno 1790 ib. 

To the Rev. William Bull 249 

Monumental Inscription to William Northcot . . .251 

Translation 252 

Epitaph on Mrs. M. Higgins, of Weston . . . . ib. 

A Riddle ib. 

Answer. From the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. Ixxvi. p. i224 253 

' Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse' ib. 

In serlitionem horrendani, corruptelis Gallicis, ut fertur, 

Londini nuper exortam ib. 

Translation 254 

TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 

From the Greek of Julianus 254 

On the same, by Palaadas ib. 

An Epitaph . . 255 

Another . ib. 

Another ib. 

Another 256 

By Callimachus ......... ib. 

On Miltiades ib. 

On an Imant ib 

ByHerarlides S57 

On the Reed • . . ib. 

To Health ib. 

On Invalids 258 

On the Astroloffers ib. 

On an Old Woman ib. 

On Flatterers 259 

On a trLe Friend ib. 

To the Swallow ib. 

On late acquired Wealth 260 

On a Bath, by Plato ib. 

On a Fowler, by Isiodorus ib. 

On Niobe ib. 

On a good Man 261 

On a Miser ib. 

Another jb. 

Another 263 

On Female Inconstancy ....... ib. 

Ob the Grasshopper ib. 



VlU CONTENTS 

On Hermocratla 363 

From Menander ib. 

On Pallas batliiiig-, from a Hymn of Callimachua • • . 36' 

To Demosthenes 363 

Ou a similar Character •..••••.ib< 

Ou an Uicly Fellow ib. 

On a battered Beauty 266 

On a Thiet ib. 

On Pedigree . ib. 

On Envy 267 

By Moschus ib. 

By Philemon 268 

EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN. 

On one ignorant and arrogant ..••,. 268 

Prudent Simplicity ib. 

To a Friend in Distress 269 

Retaliation ib. 

* When little more than boy in age' ib. 

Sunset and Sunrise ib* 

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES OF GAY. 

Lepus niultis Amicus .269 

Avarus et Plutus 271 

Papilio et Limax . . « 373 

Translations from Virgil, /Eneid, Book VIII. Line 18 . 273 

Ovid Trist. Lib. V. Eleg. XII 283 

Hor. Lib. I. Ode IX 285 

Hor. Lib. I. Ode XXXVI n ib. 

Hor. Lib. I. Ode XXXVIII 286 

Hor. Lib. II. Ode XVI ib. 

On the Benefit leceivcd by His Majesty from Sea Bathing in 

the Year 1789 287 

Addressed to Miss on readin? the Prayer for Indifference 238 

From a Letter to the Rev. Mr. Newton . . . . 291 

The Flatting Mill 292 

Epitaph on a Free but Tame Redbreast .... 293 

Sonnet addressed to William Hayley, Esq 294 

An Epitaph ib. 

On receiving Hayley's Picture 294 

On a Plant of Virgin's Bower ib. 

On receiving Heyne's Virgil 296 

On the Death of Sir William Russell ib. 

Epigram on his mistake in translating Homer . . . ib. 

Anti-Thelyphthora; a Tale in Verse 297 

The Distressed Travellers ; or. Labour in Vain . . .301 
Of Himself ; to Miss Theodora Jane Cowper . . .303 
Written after leaving her at New Burns . . . .304 

COMPLIMENTARY POEMS TO MILTON, 
Translated from the Latin and Italian. 

The Neapolitan. John Baptist Manso, Marquis of Villa, to 

the Englishman, John Milton SOS 

An Epiirram addressed to the Englishman, John Milton, % 
Poet worthy of three laurels, the Grecian, Latin^ 

and Etruscan, by John Salsilli, of Rome . . . ib. 

To John Milton, by Selvaggi ib. 

An Ode addressed to the illustrious Englishman, Mr. John 

Milton, by Signor Antonio Francini, Gent, of Florence ib. 

ADAM ; a Sacred Drama : translated from the Italian of 

Gio. Battista Andreini SOS 



HYMNS. 



I. WALKING WITH GOD.~Gen. v. M. 

Oh ! for a closer walk with God, 

A calm and heavenly frame ; 
A light to shine upon the road 

That leads me to the Lamb ' 

Where is the blessedness I knew 

When first I saw the Lord? 
Where is the soul-refreshing view 

Of Jesus and his word? 

What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd I 
How sweet their memory still! 

But they ha^e left an aching void. 
The world can never fill. 

Return, holy Dove, return ! 

Sweet messenger of rest: 
I hate the sins that made thee mourn. 

And drove thee from my breast. 

The dearest idol I have known, 

Whate'er that idol be, 
Help me to tear it from thy throne, 

And worship only thee. 

So shall my walk, be close with God, 

Calm and serene my frame ; 
So purer light shall mark the road 
Tliat leads me to the Lamb. 
B 

419 



HYMNS 



II. JEHOVAH-JIREH. THE LORD WILL 
TROVIDE.— Gen. xxii. 14. 

The saints should never be dismay'd. 

Nor sink in hopeless feai ; 
For when they least expect his aid, 

The Saviour will appear. 

This Abraham found : he raised the knife ; 

God saw, and said, ' Forbear ' 
Yon ram shall yield his meaner life ; 

Behold the victim there.' 

Once David seem'd Saul's certain prey: 

But hark ! the foe's at hand ;• 
Saul turns his arms another way, 

To save the invaded land- 

When Jonah sunk beneath the wave, 

He thought to rise no more •,♦ 
But God prepared a fish to save. 

And bear him to the shore. 

Blest proofs of power and grace divine, 

That meet us in his word ! 
May every deep-felt care of mine 

Be trusted with the Lord. 

Wait for his seasonable aid, 

And though it tarry, wait : 
The promise may be long delay'd. 

But cannot come too late. 



III. JEHOVAH.ROPHI. I AM THE LORD 
THAT HEALETH THEE.— Exod. xv. 26. 

Heal us, Emmanuel, here we are. 

Waiting to feel thy touch : 
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair. 

And, Saviour, we are such. 

• 1 Sam. xxili. 9- t lonah i. 17 

420 



HYMNS. 

Our faith is feeble, we confess 

We faintly trust thy word ; 
But wilt thou pity us the less 1 

Be that far from thee, Lord ! 

Rememher him who once apply'd 

With trembling, for relief; 
* Lord, I believe,' with tears he cried,* 

* Oh, help my unbelief!' 

She too, who touch'd thee in the press. 

And healing virtue stole, 
Was answer'd, * Daughter, go m peace,t 

Thy faith hath made thee whole.' 

Conceal'd amid the gathei-ing throng. 
She would have shunn'd thy view ; 

And if her faith was firm and strong. 
Had strong misgivings too. 

Like her, with hopes and fears we come. 

To touch thee, if we may ; 
Oh ! send us not despairing home, 

Send none unheal'd away. 



IT. JEHOVAH-NISSI. THE LORD MY BANNER. 
Exod. xvii. 15. 

By whom was David taught 

To aim the deadly blow, 
When he Goliah fought. 
And laid the Gittite low 
Nor sword nor spear the stripling took. 
But chose a pebble from the brook. 

'Twas Israel's God and ting 

Who sent him to the fight ; 
Who gave him strength to sling, 
And skill to aim aright. 
Ye feeble saints, your strength endures. 
Because young David's God is yours. 

• Mark Iv. 34 i Mark v. 34. 



HYMNS. 

Who order'd Gideon forth. 

To storm the iuvaders' camp. 
With arms of little worth, 
A pitcher and a lamp ?* 
The trumpets made his coming: tnown. 
And all the host was OA^erthrown. 

Oh ! I have seen the day, 

When with a single word, 
God helping me to say. 
My trust is in the Lord, 
My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes, 
Fearless of all that could oppose. 

But unbelief, self-\vill, 

Self-righteousness, and pride. 
How often do they steal 
My weapon from my side 
Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend. 
Will help his servant to the end. 



V. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE LORD SEND 

PEACE.— Judges vi. 24. 

Jesus, whose blood so freely stream *d 

To satisfy the law's demand ; 
By thee from guilt and wrath redeem'd. 

Before the Father's face I stand. 

To reconcile offending man. 

Make Justice drop her angi-y rod : 

What creature could have form'd the plan, 
Or who fullil it but a God 1 

No drop remains of all the curse, 
For wretches who desei-ved the whole ; 

No arrows dipt in wTath to pierce 
The guilty, but returning soul. 

• Jud;.'ig vii. 9, and 20. 



HYMNS 

Peace by such means so dearly bought. 
What rebel could have hoped to see ? 

Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought* 
His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree. 

Now, Lord, thy feeble wonn prepare f 
For strife with earth and hell begins ; 

Confirm and gird me for the war. 
They hate the soul that hates his sins. 

Let them in horrid league agree ! 

They may assault, they may distress ; 
But cannot quench thy love to me. 

Nor rob me of the Lord my peace. 



VI. WISDOM.— Prov. viii. 2»— 31. 

Ere God had built the mountains. 

Or raised the fi"uitful hills ; 
Before he fill'd the fountains 

That feed the i-unning rills 
In me, from everlasting. 

The wonderful I am. 
Found pleasures never wasting, 

And Wisdom is my name. 

When like a tent to dwell in. 

He spread the skies abroad. 
And swathed about the swelling 

Of Ocean's mighty flood ; 
He wrought by weight and measure, 

And I was with him then : 
Myself the Father's pleastu*e. 

And mine the sons of raen. 

Thu^s wisdom's words discover 

Thy glory and thy grace 
Thou everlasting lover 

Of our unworthy race I 
Thy gracious eye survey'd us 

Ere stars were seen above ; 
In wisdom thou hast made us, 

4nd died for us in love. 



423 



HYMNS. 

And coiild'st thou be delighted 

With creatures such as we. 
Who, when we saw thee, slighted. 

And nail'd thee to a tree ? 
Unfathomable wonder, 

And mystery divine ! 
The voice that speaks in thunder. 

Says, * Sinner, I am thine I' 



VII. VANITY OF THE WORLD. 

God gives his mercies to be spent ; 

Your hoard will do your soul no gooa ; 
Gold is a blessing only lent, 

Repaid by giving others food 

Ihe world's esteem is but a bribe. 

To buy their peace you sell your own ; 

The slave of a vain-glorious tribe. 
Who hate you m'hile they make you knowix 

The joy that vain amusements give. 
Oh ! sad conclusion that it brings • 

The honey of a crowded hive, 
Defended by a thousand stings. 

Tis thus the world rewards the fools 
That live upon her treacherous smiles ; 

She leads them blindfold by her rules, 
And ruins all whom she beguiles. 

God knows the thousands who go down 
From pleasure into endless woe ; 

And with a long despairing groan 
Blaspheme their Maker as they go. 

O fearful thought ! be timely wise ; 

Delight but in a Saviour's charms. 
And God shall take you to the skies, 

Embraced in everlasting arms. 



HYMNS. 

Till. O LORD, I WILL PRAISE THEF. 
Isaiah xii. I. 

I WILL praise thee every day 
Now thine anger's turn'd away I 
Comfortable thoughts arise 
From the bleeding sacrifice. 

Here, in the fair gospel-field. 
Wells of free salvation yield 
Streams of life, a plenteous store. 
And my soul shall thirst no more. 

Jesus is become at length 
My salvation and my strength ; 
And his praises shall pi'olong. 
While I live, my pleasant song. 

Praise ye, then, his glorious name. 
Publish his exalted fame ! 
Still his worth your praise exceeds, 
Excellent are all his deeds. 

Raise again the joyful sound. 
Let the nations roll it round ! 
Zion, shout, for this is he, 
God the Saviour dwells in thee I 



IX. THE CONTRITE HEART.— Isaiah Ivii. IS< 

The Lord will happiness di\dne 

On contrite hearts bestow ; 
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine 

A coniiite heart or no 1 

1 hear, but seem to hear in vain. 

Insensible as steel ; 
1/ ought is felt, 'tis only pain, 

To find I cannot feel. 

2 E 



HYMNS. 

I sometimes thiuk xiiyself inclined 

To love thee, if I could ; 
But often feel another mind. 

Averse to aU that's good. 

My best desires are faint and few, 
I fain would strive for more ; 

But when I cry, ' My strength renew,' 
Seem weaker than before. 

Thy saints are comforted, I know. 
And love thy house of prayer ; 

I therefore go where others go. 
But find no comfort there. 

O make this neart rejoice or ache ; 

Decide this doubt for me ; 
And if it be not broken, break. 

And heal it if it be. 



X. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OP 
THE CHURCH.— Isaiah ix. 15—20. 

Hear what God the Lord hath spoken, 

• O my people, faint and few. 
Comfortless, afflicted, broken, 
Fair abodes I build for you ; 
Thorns of heart-felt tribulation 
Shall no more perplex your ways : 
You shall name your walls. Salvation, 
And your gates shall aU be praise. 

* There, like streams that feed the garden. 
Pleasures without end shall flow ; 

For the Lord, your faith rewarding. 
All his bounty shall bestow ; 
Still in undisturb'd possession 
Peace and righteousness shall reig^ ; 
Never shall you feel oppression. 
Hear the voice of war again. 



HYMNS. 

• Ye no more your suns descending. 
Waning moons no more sball see ; 
Bat, your griefs for ever ending. 
Find eternal noon in me : 
God shall rise, and shining o'er you. 
Change to day the gloom of night ; 
He, the Lord, shall be your glory, 
God your everlasting light.' 



XI. JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS 
Jer. xxiii. 6. 

My God, how perfect are thy ways! 

But mine polluted are ; 
Sin twines itself about my praise 

And slides into my prayer. 

When I would speak what thou hut done 

To save me from my sin, 
1 cannot make thy mercies known. 

But self-applause creeps in. 

Oivine desire, that holy flame 

Thy grace creates ia me ; 
Alas ! impatience is its name, 

VVlien it returns to thee. 

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughtE, 

How does it overflow ! 
While self upon the surface floats. 

Still bubbling from below- 
Let others in the gaudy dress 

Of fancied merit shine. 
The Lord shall be my righteoufUCMy 

The Lord for ever mine. 



B3 



10 HYMNS. 



XII. EPHRAIM REPENTING.-Jer. xxxi. l&-2e 

My God, till I received thy stroke, 

How like a beast was I ! 
So unaccustom'd to the yoke. 

So backward to comply. 

With grief my just reproach I bear. 
Shame fills me at the thought ; 

How frequent my rebellions were I 
What wickedness I wrought ! 

Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd, 

And left the pleasant road ; 
Yet turn me, and I shall be tum'd. 

Thou art the Lord my God. 

* Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts. 

Or vile in my esteem ? 
No,' saith the Lord, 'with all his faults, 
I still remember him. 

* Is he a dear and pleasant child ? 

Yes, dear and pleasant still ; 
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled. 
And he withstood my will. 

* My sharp rebuke has laid him low, . 

He seeks my face again ; 
My pity kindles at his woe, 
He shall not seek in vain.' 



XIII. THE COVENANT.— Ezek. xxxvi. 99-«fc 

Thb Lord proclaims his grace abroad 1 
Behold, I change your hearts of stone ; 
Each shall renounce his idol-god, 
And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone. 



ilYMNS. II 

My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds 
To wash your filthiness away ; 
Ye shall abhor your former deeds. 
And learn my statutes to obey. 

My truth the great design ensures, 
I give myself away to you ; 
You shall be mine, I will be yours. 
Your God vmalterably true. 

Yet not unsought, or unimplored, 
The plenteous grace shall I confer;* 
No— yoiu- whole hearts shall seek the Lord, 
I'll put a praying spirit there. 

Prom the first breath of life divine, 
Down to the last expiring hour. 
The gracious work shall all be mine. 
Begun and ended in my power. 



XIV. JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH.— Ezek. xlviiL S9 

As birds their infant brood protect.^ 
And spread their wings to shelter them, 
Thus saith the Lord to his elect, 
* So will I guard Jerusalem.' 

And what then is Jerusalem, 
This darling object of his care? 
Where is its worth in God's esteem? 
Who built it 1 who inhabits there 1 

Jehovah founded it in blood. 
The blood of his incarnate Son ; 
There dwell the saints, once foes to God, 
The sinners whom he calls his own. 

There, though besieged on every side. 
Yet much beloved and guarded well. 
From age to age they have defied 
The utmost force of earth and hell. 

• Verse 37. t Isaiah xxxl. s. 



12 HYMNS 

Let earth repent, and hell despair. 
This city has a sure defence ; 
Her name is call'd, The Lord is there, 
And who has power to drire him thence T 



XV. PRAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENEtt 
Zee. xiii. 1. 

There is a fountain fill'd with blood 

Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ; 
And sinners, phmged beneath that flood. 

Lose all their gniilty stains. 

The dying thief rejoiced to see 

That fountain in his day ; 
And there have I, as vile as he, 

Wash'd all my sins away. 

Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood 

Shall never lose its power. 
Till all the ransoni'd church of God 

Be saved to sin no more. 

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream 

Thy flowing wounds supply. 
Redeeming love has been my theme. 

And shall be till I die. 

Then in a nobler, sweeter song 

I'll sing thy power to save ; 
When this poor lisping stammering tongne 

Lies silent in the grave. 

Lord, I believe thou hast prepared 

(Unworthy tliough I be) 
For me a blood^iought free reward, 

A golden harp for me I 

•Tis strung, and tuned, for endlesa yearat 

And form'd by power divine, 
To sound in God the Father's ears 

No other name but thine. 



HYMNS. 13 



XVI. THE SOWER.— Matt. xiii. 3. 

Yb sons of earth, prepare the plough. 
Break up your fallow ground ; 

The sower is gone forth to sow. 
And scatter blessings round- 

The seed that finds a stony soil, 

Shoots forth a hasty blade : 
But ill repays the sower's toil. 

Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead. 

The thorny ground is sure to baulk 

All hopes of harvest there ; 
We find a tall and sickJy stalk. 

But not the fruitful ear. 

The beaten path and highway side 

Receive the trust in vain ; 
The watchful birds the spoil divide. 

And pick up all the grain. 

But where the Lord of grace and power 

Has bless'd the happy field. 
How plenteous is the golden store 

The deep-wrought furrows yield I 

Father of mercies, we have need 

Of thy preparing grace ; 
Let the same hand that gives the seed 

Provide a fruitful place. 



XVIL THE HOUSE OF PRAYER.— Mark xL 17 

Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, 
O Lord, thy dwelling-place secure 1 

Bid the unruly throng depart. 
And leave the consecrated door. 

Devoted as it is to thee, 

A thievish swarm frequents the place ; 
They steal away my joys from me. 

And rob my Saviour of his praise. 

481 



14 HYMNS. 

There, too, a sliai-p desigrning trade 
Sin, Satan, and the world maintain 

Nor cease to press me, and persuade 
To part with ease, and purchase pain. 

1 know them, and I hate their din, 
Am weary of the bustling crowd ; 

But while their voice is heard within, 
I cannot serve thee as I would. 

Oh ! for the joy thy presence gives, 
What peace shall reii^n when thou art Lerel 

Thy presence mates this den of thieves 
A calm delightful house of prayer. 

And if thou make thy temple shine, 

Yet, self-abased, will I adore; 
The gold and silver are not mine, 

I give thee what was thine before. 



XVIII. LOVEST THOU ME ?— John xxi. IC 

Hark, my soul! it is the Lord: 
Tis thy Saviour, hear his word; 
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee : 

• Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me 1 

' I deliver'd thee when bound, 
And when bleedinu.-, heal'd thy wound: 
Sought thee wandering, set thee right, 
Turn'd thy darkness into light. 

• Can a woman's tender care 
Cease towards the child she baret 
Yes, she may forgetful be. 

Yet ■will I remember thee. 

' Mine is an unchanging love. 
Higher than the heights above ; 
Deeper than tlie depths beneath, 
Free and faithful, strong as death. 



HYMNS. Ifi 



« Thou shalt see my glory soon. 
When the work of giace is done : 
Partner of my throne shalt be: — 
Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me V 

Lord, it is my chief complaint, 
That my love is weak and faint; 
Yet I love thee and adore : 
Oh I for grace to love thee more! 



XIX. CONTENTMENT.— Phil. ir. 11. 

Fierce passions discompose the mind. 

As tempests vex the sea: 
But calm content and peace we find. 

When, Lord, we turn to thee. 

In Tain by reason and by rule 

We try to bend the will ; 
For none but in the Saviour's school 

Can learn the heavenly skill. 

Since at his feet my soul has sat, 

His gracious words to hear. 
Contented with my present state, 

1 cast on him my care. 

* Art thou a sinner, soul?' he said, 

« Then how canst thou complain ? 
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd 
With everlasting pain ! 

* If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured. 

Compare tfiy griefs with mine; 
Think what my love for thee endured, 
And thou wilt not repine. 

« Tis I appoint thy daUy lot. 

And I do all things well ; 
Thon soon shalt leave this wretched spot. 

And rise with me to dwell. 



16 HYMNS. 

In life my gi-ace shall strength supply^ 
Proportion'd to thy day ; 
At death thou still shalt find me nigh, 
To wipe thy tears away.' 

Thus I, who once my wretched days 

In vain repinings spent 
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace. 

Have learnt to be content. 



XX. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL.- -Heb. i?, 8. 

Israel, in ancient days, 

Not only had a view 
Of Sinai in a blaze, 
But learn'd the Gospel too; 
The types and figures were a glass, 
In which they saw a Saviour's face. 

The paschal sacrifice. 

And blood-besprinkled door,* 
Seen with enlighten'd eyes. 
And once applied with power. 
Would teach the need of other blood. 
To reconcile an angry God. 

The Lamb, the Dove, set forth 

His perfect innocence,+ 
Whose blood of matchless worth 
Should be the soul's defence ; 
For he who can for sin atone. 
Must have no failings of his own. 

The scape-goat on his headf 

The people's trespass bore. 

And to the desert led, 

Was to be seen no more : 

In him our Surety seem'd to say, 

* Behold, I bear your sins away.' 

• Exod. xii. 13. t Lev. xii. a. * Ler. x^- »»■ 

4M 



HYMNS. 17 

Dipt in his fellow's blood, 

The living- bi.d went free ;• 
The type, well understood, 
Express'd the sinner's plea; 
Described a g-uilty soul enlarged 
And by a Saviour's death discharged. 

Jesus, I love to trace. 

Throughout the sacred page 
The footsteps of thy grace, 
The same in every age ! 
O grant that I may faithful be 
To clearer light vouchsafed to me I 



XXI. SARDIS.— Rev. iii. l-« 

* Write to Sardis,' saith the Lord, 

And write what he declares. 
He whose Spirit, and whose word, 
Upholds the seven stars : 

* All thy works and ways I search. 

Find thv zeal and love decay'd; 
Thou art eklVd a living church. 
But thou art cold and dead. 

Watch, remember, seek, and striva 

Exert thy former pains ; 
Let thy timely care revive 

And strengthen what remams : 
Cleanse thine heart, thy works amen 

Former times to mind recall, 
liCst my sudden stroke descend. 

And smite thee once for all. 

Yet I number now in thee 
A few that are upright ; 
These my Father's face shall see« 
And walk with me in white. 

• Lev. xlv. 51—^3. 



18 HYMNS. 

When in judg-ment I appear. 

They for mine shall he confest; 
Let my faithful servanta hear 
And woe be to the rest. 



XXII. PRAYER FOR A BLESSING. 

Bestow, dear Lord, upon our youth 

The gift of saving grace ; 
And let the seed of sacred truth 

Fall in a fruitful place. 

Grace is a plant, where'er it gro-w 

Of pure and lieavenly root ; 
But fairest in the youngest shows. 

And yields the sweetest fruit. 

Ye careless ones, O hear betimes 

The voice of sovereign love ! 
Your youth is stain'd with many crimes, 



True, you are young, but there's a stone 
Within the youngest breast ; 

Or half the crimes which you have done 
Would rob you of your rest. 

For you the public prayer is made. 

Oh! join the public prayer! 
For you the secret tear is shed, 

O shed yourselves a tear! 

We pray that you may early prove 
The Spirit's power to teach ; 

Yoa cannot be too young to love 
That Jesus whom we preach. 



HYMNS. 19 



XXIII. PLEADING FOR AND WITH YOUTH. 

Six has undone our wretched race, 

But Jesus has restored, 
And brought the sinner face to face 

With his forgiving Lord. 

This we repeat, from year to year, 

And press upon our youth ; 
Lord, give them an attentive ear, 

Lord, save them by thy truth. 

Blessings upon the rising race ! 

Make this a happy hour. 
According to thy richest grace. 

And thine almighty power. 

We feel for your unhappy state, 

(May you regard it too) 
And would awhile ourselves forget 

To pour out prayer for you. 

We see, though you perceive it not, 

Th' appi caching awful doom; 
O tremble at the solemn thought 

And flee the wrath to come 

Dear Saviour, let this new-bom year 

Spread an alarm abroad ; 
And cry in every careless ear, 

* Prepare to meet thy God 1' 



XXIV. PRAYER VOR CHILDREN 

Gracious Lord, our children see. 
By thy mercy we are free ; 
But shall these, alas ! remain 
Subjects stiU of Satan's reign T 



90 HYMNS. 

Israel's -younp: ones, when of old 
Pharaoh threateu'd to withhold;* 
Then thy messenger said, ' No ; 
Let the children also go.' 

When the angel of the Lord 
Drawing forth his dreadful sword. 
Slew, with an avenging hand, 
All the first-bom of the land ;t 
Then thy people's doors he pass'd. 
Where the bloody sign was placed ; 
Hear us, now, upon our knees. 
Plead the blood of Christ for these ! 

Lord, we tremble, for we know 
How the fierce malicious foe, 
Wheeling round his watchful flight 
Keeps them ever in his sight : 
Spread thy pinions, King of kings ! 
Hide them safe beneath thy wings; 
Lest the ravenous bird of prey 
Stoop, and bear the brood away 



XXV. JEHOVAH JESUS. 

My song shall bless the Lord of all. 
My praise shall climb to his abode ; 

Thee, Saviour, by that name I call. 
The great, supreme, the mighty God. 

Without beginning or decline. 
Object of faith, and not of sense ; 

Eternal ages saw him shine. 
He shines eternal ages hence. 

As much, when in the manger laid, 

Almighty ruler of the sky. 
As "When the six days' work he made 

Fill'd all the morning stars with joy. 

• Bjcod. X. 9. ♦ Exod. Jdl. r 



* 



HYMNS. 21 

IVf all the crowns Jehovah bears. 

Salvation is his deatest claim ; 
That gracious sound well pleased he bears. 

And owns Emmanuel for his name. 
A cheerful confidence I feel. 

My well-placed hopes with joy I see ; 
My bosom glows with heavenly zeal. 

To worship him who died for me. 
Ab man, he pities my complaint. 

His power and ti-uth are aU divine ; 
He will not fail, he cannot faint. 

Salvation's sure, and must be mine. 



XXVI. ON OPENING A PLACE FOR SOCIAL 
PRAYER. 

Jesus I where'er thy people meet. 
There they behold thy mercy-seat ; 
Where'er they seek thee, thou art found 
And every place is hallow'd ground. 

For thou, within no walls confined 
Inhabitest the humble mind ; 
Such ever bring thee where they come. 
And going, take thee to their home. 

Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few ! 
Thy former mercies here renew ; 
Here to our waiting hearts proclaim 
The sweetness of thy saving name. 

Here may we prove the power of prayer 
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care ; 
To teach our faint desires to rise. 
And bring all heaven before our eyes 

Behold, at thy commanding word 
We stretch the curtain and the cord ;• 
Come thou, and fill this wider space. 
And bless us with a large increase. 

• Isaiah liv. 2. 



HYMNS. 

Lord, we are few, but thou art near ; 
Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear ; 
Oh, rend the heavens, come quickly down> 
And make a thousand hearts thine own. 



XXVII. WELCOME TO THE TABLE. 

This is the feast of heavenly wine 

And God invites to sup ; 
The juices of the living vine 

Were press'd to fill the cup. 

Oh I bless the Saviour, ye that eat 

With royal dainties fed; 
Not heaven affords a costlier treat 

For Jesus is the bread. 

The vile, the lost, he calls to them. 

Ye trembling souls, appear I 
The righteous in their own esteem 

Have no acceptance here. 

Approach, ye poor, nor dare refuse 
The banquet spread for you ; 

Dear Saviour, this is welcome news. 
Then I may venture too. 

If gnilt and sin aflbrd a plea. 

And may obtain a place, 
Snrely the Lord vnW welcome me. 

And I shall see his face. 



XXVIII. JESUS HASTING TO SUFFER. 

The Saviour, what a noble flame 

Was kindled in his breast. 
When hasting to Jerusalem, 

He march'd before the rest 



HYMNS. 

Good ■will to raen, and zeal for God 
His every thought engTOss; 

He longs to be baptized with blood,* 
He pauts to reach the cross! 

With all his sufferings full in view. 

And woes to us unknown, 
Forth to the task his spirit flew ; 

"Twas love that urged him on. 

Lord, we return thee what we can: 
Our hearts shall sound abroad. 

Salvation to the dying Man, 
And to the rising God ! 

And while thy bleeding glories here 
Engage our wondei-ing eyes, 

We learn our lighter cross to hear 
And hasten to the skies. 



XXIX. EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. 

What various hindrances we meet 

In coming to a mercy-seat ! 

Yet who that knows the worth of prayei'. 

But wishes to be often there 1 

Prayer makes the darken'd cloud withdraw, 
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw. 
Gives exercise to faith and love, 
Brings every blessing from above. 

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight ; 
Prayer makes the Christian's armoar bright 
And Satan tren^bles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees 

While Moses stood with arms spread wide. 
Success was found on Israel's side ; 
But when through weariness they fail'd. 
That moment Amalek prevail'd.t 

• Luke xU. SO. t ExodiM avH. n. 

2F ^ 



HYMNS. 

Have you no words ? Ha I think again. 
Words flow a.pace when you complain, 
And fill your fellow-creature's ear 
With the sad tale of all your care. 

Were half the breath thus vainly spent 
To Heaven in supplication sent, 
Your cheerful song would oftener oe, 
* Hear what the Lord has done for me.' 



XXX. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF THB 
WORD. 

The Spirit breathes upon the Word, 
And brings the truth to sight; 

Precepts and promises afford 
A sanctifying light. 

A glory gilds the sacred page. 

Majestic like tlie sun ; 
It gives a light to every age. 

It gives, but boiTOws none. 

The hand that gave i* still suppliea 
The gi-acious light and heat: 

His tiniths upon the nations rise. 
They rise, but nearer set. 

Let everlasting thanks be thine. 

For such a bright display. 
As makes a world of daikjiess shine 

With beams of heavenly day. 

My soul rejoices to pursue 

The steps of him I love. 
Till glory breaks upon my view 

In brighter worlds above. 



HYMNS. 



XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER. 

His master taken from his head, 

Elisha saw him go ; 
And in desponding accents said, 

*Ah, what must Israel ioV 

But he forgot the Lord who lifts 

The heggar to the throne ; 
Nor knew, that all Elijah's gifts 

Will soon be made his own. 

What! when a Paul has run his cours* 

Or when ApoUos dies, 
la Israel left without resource ? 

And have we no sxipplies ? 

Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives 

We have a boundlee s store, 
And shall be fed with what he gives, 

Who lives for evermore. 



XXXII. THE SHINING LIGHT. 

My former hopes are fled, 

My terror now begins ; 
I feel, alas ! that I am dead 

In trespasses and sins. 

Ah, whither shall I fly ! 

I hear the thunder roar ; 
The law proclaims destruction nighj 

And vengeance at the door. 

When I review my ways, 
I dread impending doom: 

But sure a friendly whisper says, 
'Flee from the wrath to come.' 
C 



HYMNS 

I see, or think I see 
A glimmering- from afar; 

A beam of day, that shines for Tae» 
To save me from despair. 

Forerunner of the suu,* 

It marks the Filgrrim's way; 

m gaze upon it while I i*un. 
And watch the rising day. 



XXXIII. SEEKING THE BELOVKl>c 

To those who know the Lord, I speak, 

Is mj' beloved near? 
The bridegroom of m,y soul I seek, 

Oh! when will he appear? 
Though once a man of grief and shame, 

Yet now he fills a throne. 
And bears the greatest, sv>reetest name. 

That earth or heaven have known. 

Grace flies before, and love attends 

His steps where'er he goes; 
Though none can see him but his friend* 

And they were once his foes. 
He speaks — obedient to his call 

Our warm affections move : 
Did he but shine alike on eiII, 

Then aU alike would love. 
Then love in every heart Avoiild reign. 

And war would cease to roar; 
And cruel and blood-thirsty men 

Would thirst for blood no more. 
Such Jesus is, and such his grace, 

Oh, may he shine on you! 
And tell him, when you sec his face, 

I long to see him too.f 

PB«dm cxxx. 6. t Cant. v. • 



HYMNS. 27 



XXXIV. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 

God moves m a mysterious way 

His wonders to pevfoi-m; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea. 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable minds 

Of never-failing skill, 
He ti-easures up his britrht designs, 

And works his sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, 

The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 

In blessings on your head- 
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense 

But trust him for his grace : 
Behind a frowning providence 

He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste. 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err,* 

And scan his work in vain : 
God is his own interpreter, 

And he will make it plain. 



XXXV. WELCOME CROSS. 

Tis my happiness below 
Not to live without the cross, 

But the Saviour's power to kj-.o.v, 
Sanctifying every loss : 

• John xiii. 7. 



HYMNS. 

Trials must and will be-all ; 

But with bumble faith to see 
Love inscribed upon them all, 

This is happiness to me. 

God in Israel sows the seeds 

Of affliction, pain, and toil ; 
These spring up and choke the weeds 

Which would else o'erspread the aoill 
Trials make the promise sweet. 

Trials give new life to praver ; 
Trials bring me to his feet. 

Lay me low, and keep me there. 

Did I meet no ti-ials here. 

No chastisement by the way : 
Might I not, with reason, fear 

I should prove a cast-away ? 
Bastards may escape the rod,* 

Sunk in earthly vain delight ; 
But the true-bom child of God 

Must not, Vv'ould not, if he might. 



XXXVI. AFFLICTIONS SANCTIFIED BY THB 
WORD. 

HOW I love thy holy word, 
Thy gracious covenant, O Lord ! 
It guides me in the peaceful way; 

1 think upon it a'll the day. 

What are the mines of shining wealth, 
The strength of youth, the bloom of health ! 
What are all joys compared with those 
Thine everlasting word bestows I 

Long unafflicted, undismay'd, 
In pleasure's path secure I stray'd ; 
Thou madest me feel thy chastening rod,* 
And sti-aight I tum'd unto my God. 

•TTebrtws xii. 8. t Psnlri) ex; v. 7;.. 



HYMNiS. 

What thoujjVi it pierced my tainting heart, 
I bless'd thine hand that caused the smart; 
It taught my tears awhile to flow. 
But saved me from eternal woe. 

Oh I hadst thou left me uuchastised 
Thy precept I had still despised ; 
And still the snare in secret laid 
Had my unwary feet betray'd. 

I lore thee, therefore, O my God, 
And breathe towards thy dear abod ^ ; 
Where, in thy presence fully blest. 
Thy chosen saints for ever rest. 



XXXVII. TEMPTATION. 

The billows swell, the winds are high. 

Clouds overcast my mnti-y sky ; 

Out of the depths to thee I call, — 

My fears are great, my sti-ength is small. 

O Lord, the pilot's part perform. 
And g-uard and guide me through the storm, 
Defend me from each threatening- ill. 
Control the waves, — say, * Peace, be still.' 

Amidst the roaring- of the sea 
My soul still hangs her liope on thee ; 
Thy constant love, thy faithful care. 
Is all that saves me from despair. 

Dangers of every shape and name 
Attend the followers of the Lamb, 
Who leave the world's deceitful shore. 
And leave it to return no more. 

Though tempest-toss 'd and half a -wreck, 
My Saviour through the floods I seek ; 
Let neither winds nor stoiiny main 
Force back my shatter'd bark again. 



30 HYMNS. 

XXXVIII. LOOKIiNG UPWARDS IN A STORM 

God of my life, to thee I call, 
Afflicted at thy feet I fall ; 
When the great water-floods prevail,* 
Leave not my trembling- heart to tail 1 
Friend of the frieAdless and the faint ! 
Where should I lodge my deep complaint 1 
Where but with thee, whose open door 
Invites the helpless and the poor I 

Did ever mourner plead with thee. 
And thou refuse that mo^u^ler's plea 1 
Does not the word still fix'd remain, 
That none shall seek thy face in vain 
That were a grief I cotild not bear. 
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer ; 
But a prayer-hearing, answering God 
Supports me under every load. 
Fair is the lot that's cast for me ; 
I have an Advocate with thee ; 
ITiey whom the world caresses most 
Have no such privilege to boast. 
Poor though I am, despised, forgot,* 
Yet God, my God, forgets me not : 
And he is safe, and must succeed. 
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead. 



XXXIX. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF 
DEATH. 

My son! is sad, and much dismay'd, 
See, liord, what legions of my foes. 

With fierce Apollyon at their head, 
My heavenly pilgrimage oppose ! 

• P;!alra IxJx. 15. t PstUm x!. 1% 

448 



HYMNS. 

See, from the ever-burning late, 

How like a smoky cloud they rise ! 
With horrid blasts my soul they shake. 

With stonns of blasphemies and lies. 
Their fiery aiTows reach the mark,* 

My throbbing heart with anguish tear ; 
Each lights upon a kindred spark. 

And finds abundant fuel there. 
I hate the thought that -wTongs the Lord . 

Oh ! I would drive it from my breast. 
With thy own sharp two-edged sword, 

Far as the east is from the west. 
Come, then, and chase the cruel host. 

Heal the deep wounds I have received ' 
Nor let the powers of darkness boast. 

That I am foil'd, and thou art grieved 1 



XL. PEACE AFTER A STORM. 

When darkness long has veil'd my mind 

And smiling day once more appears ; 
Then, my Redeemer, then I find. 

The folly of my doubts and feara. 
Straight I upbraid my wandering heart, 

And blush that I sho^ild ever be 
Thus prone to act so base a part, 

Or harbour cue hard thought of thee I 
Oh ! let me then at length be taught 

What I am still so slow to learn ; 
That God is love, and changes not. 

Nor knows the shadow of a turn. 
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat ! 

But when my faith is sharply tried, 
I find my.self a learner yet, 

Uufikilful, weak, and apt to slide. 

* Ephe«. vi. 18, 



OS HYMNS. 

But, O my Lord, one look from the* 
Subdues the disobedient Vv-ill ; 

Drives doubt and discontent away. 
And thy rebellious woi-m is still. 

Thou art as ready to forgive 

As I am ready to repine ; 
Thou, therefoie, all the praise receive ; 

Be shame and self-abhorrence mine. 



XLI. MOURNING AND LONGINO. 

The Saviour hides his face .' 
My spirit thirsts to prove 
Renew 'd supplies of pardoning grace. 
And never-fading love. 

The favoured soids who know 
What glories shine in him, 
Pant for his presence as the roe 
Pants for the living stream I 

What trifles tease me now I 
They swann like summer flies 
They cleave to every thing I do. 
And swim before my eyes. 

How dull the Sabbath day. 
Without the Sabbath's Lord ! 
How toilsome then to sing and pray. 
And wait upon the word ! 

Of all the truths I hear, 
How few delight my taste ! 
I glean a berry here and there. 
But mourn the vintage past. 

Yet let me (as I ought) 
Still hope to be supplied ; 
No pleasure else is worth a thoughd^ 
Nor shall I be deiiied. 



HYMNS. S<) 

Though I am but a woi-m 
Unworthy of his care. 
The Lord will in\ desire peribrm, 
And grant me all my prayer. 



XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE. 

De&r Lord ! accept a sinful heart. 

Which of itself complains. 
And mourns, with much an frequent smart. 

The evil it contains. 

There fiery seeds of anger lurk. 

Which often hurt my frame ; 
And wait but for the tempter's work, 

To fan them to a flame. 

Legality holds out a bribe 

To purchase life from thee ; 
And discontent would fain prescribe 

How thou shalt deal with me. 

While unbelief withstands thy grace 

And puts the mercy by ; 
Presumption, with a brow of brass. 

Says, ' Give me, or I die.' 

How eager are my thoughts to i-oam 

In quest of what they love ! 
But ah ! when duty calls them home. 

How heavily they move ! 

Oh, cleanse me in a Sa^'iour's blood. 

Transform me by thy power, 
AnA make me thy beloved abode. 

And let me roam no more. 



c s 



451 



Zi 



XLIIl. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE. 

Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me. 

My peace and pardon to procvue. 
The lighter cross I bear for thee, 

Help me with patience to endure. 

The stOTTii of loud repining hush, 
I would in humble silence mourn ; 

Why should th' unburnt, though burning bush^ 
Be angry as the crackling thorn ? 

Man should not faint at thy rebuke. 

Like Joshua falling on his face,* 
When the ciu-sed thing that Achan took 

Brought Israel into just disgrace. 

Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd. 

Some secret sin offends my God ; 
Perhaps that Babylonish vest, 

Self-righteousness, provokes the rod. 

Ah ! were I buiTeted all day, 

Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon ; 
I yet should have no right to say. 

My great distress is mine alone. 

Let me not angrily declare 
No pain was ever sharp like mine, 

Nor murmur at the cross I bear, 
But rather weep, remembering thine. 



XLIV. SUBMISSION. 

O Lord, my best desire fulfil, 

And help me to resign 
Life, health, and comfort to thy will. 

And make thy pleasure mine. 

* Joshua vii. 10, 11. 



KV-MNS. 35 

Why shoiild I shrink, at tliy comraaiid, 

"Whose love forbids my fears '? 
Or tremble at the gracious hand 

That wipes away my tears ? 

No, rather let me freely jield 

What most I prize to thee ; 
Who never hast a good withheld. 

Or wilt withhold from me. 

Thy favour, all my journey through, 

Thou art engaged to grant ; 
What else I want, or think. I do, 

'Tis better still to want. 

Wisdom and mercy guide my way. 

Shall I resist them both ? 
A poor blind creature of a day, 

And cinish'd before the moth I 

But ah ! my inward spirit cries. 

Still bind me to thy sway ; 
Else the next cloud that veils the skies. 

Drives all these thoughts away. 



XLV. THE rfAPPy CHANGE. 

How blest thy creature is, O God, 

When, with a single eye. 
He views the lustre of thy word 

The dayspnng from on high I 
Through all the storms that veil the skiea. 

And frown on earthly things. 
The Son of Righteousness he eyes. 

With healing on his v/ings. 
Struck by that light, the human heart, 

A barren soil no more. 
Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad 

Where serpents lurk'd before.* 

* Isaiah XXXV. 7. 



36 HYMNS. 

The soul a dreary province once 

Of Satan's dark domain, 
Feels a new empire fonn'd mthin. 

And owns a heavenly reign. 

The glorious orb, whose golden beams 

The fruitful year control, 
Since first obedient to tliy word. 

He started from the goal, 

Has cheer'd the nations with the joja 

His orient rays impart ; 
But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone 

Can shine upon the heart. 



XLVI. RETIREMENT. 

Far from the world, O Lord, I flee. 

From strife and tumult far; 
From scenes were Satan wages still 

His most successful war. 

The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
With prayer and praise agTee ; 

And seem, by thy sweet boiuity made* 
For those who follow thee. 

There if thy Spirit touch the soul. 

And grace her mean abode. 
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, 

She communes with her God ! 

There like the nightingale she pours 

Her solitary lays; 
Nor asks a witness of her song. 

Nor thirsts for human praise. 

Author and guardian of my life. 
Sweet source of light divine, 

Axtd (all harmonioixs names in one) 
My Sarioiir, thou urt mine I 



HYMNS. 37 

What thanks I owe thee, and what love, 

A boundless, endless store. 
Shall echo through the realms above 

When time shall be no more. 



XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE. 

To tell the Saviour all my wants, 

How pleasing is the task ! 
Nor less to praise him when he granTS 

Beyond what I can ask. 

My labouring spirit vainly seeks 

To tell but half the joy ; 
With how much tenderness he speaks. 

And helps me to reply. 

Nor were it wise, nor should I choose. 

Such secrets to declare ; 
Like precious wines their taste they lose. 

Exposed to open air. 

But this with boldness I proclaim, 

Nor care if thousands hear. 
Sweet is tjie ointment of his name, 

Not life is half so dear. 

And can you frown, my former friends. 
Who knew what once I was ; 

And blame the song that thus commends 
The man who bore the cross ? 

ftust me, I draw the likeness true, 

And not as fancy paints ; 
Such honour may he give to you. 

For such have all his saints. 



HYMNS. 



XLVIII JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVINO. 

S3MET1MES a light sill-prises 

The Christian while he sings ; 
It is the Lord who rises 

With healing on his %vings : 
When comforts are declining 

He grants the soul again 
A season of clear shining, 

To cheer it after rain. 

In holy contemplation. 

We sweetly then pursue 
The theme of God's salvation. 

And lind it ever new ; 
Set free from present sorrow. 

We cheerfully can say. 
E'en let th' unknown to-morrow* 

Bring with it what it may. 

It can hring with it nothing. 

But he will bear as through ; 
Who gives the lilies clothing. 

Will clothe his people too ; 
j Beneath the spreading heavens. 

No creature but is fed ; 
And he who feeds the ravens. 

Will give his children bread. 

Though vine nor fig-tree neither* 

Their wonted fruit shall bear. 
Though all the field should wither, 

Nor flocks nor herds be there : 
Yet God the same abiding, 

His praise shall tune my voice ; 
For, while in him confiding 

I cannot but rejoice. 

• Matthew vi. 34. t Habakkuk iii. 17, It*. 



HYMNS. 

XLIX. TRUE PLEASURES. 

Lord, my soul with pleasure springs 

When Jesus' name I hear; 
And when God the Spirit brings 

The word of promise near : 
Beauties too, in holiness, 

Still delighted I perceive ; 
Nor have words that can express 

The joys thy precepts give. 
Cloth'd in sanctity and grace. 

How sweet it is to see 
Those who love thee as they pass. 

Or when they wait on thee ! 
Pleasant too, to sit and tell 

What we owe to love divine; 
Till our bosoms grateful swell. 

And eyes begin to shine. 
Those the comforts I possess, 

Which God shall still hicrease. 
All his ways are pleasantness,* 

And all his paths are peace. 
Nothing Jesus did or spoke. 

Henceforth let me ever slight; 
For I love his easy yoke,-t 

And find Ms burden light. 



L. THE CHRISTIAN. 

Honour and happiness unite 

To make the Christian's name a praise ? 
How fair the scene, how clear the light. 

That fiUs the remnant of his days ! 

A kingly character he bears. 

No change his priestly office knows ; 

Unfading is the crown he wears. 
His joys can never reach a close. 

« Prov iii. 17. * MaU. xi. 30. 

151 



40 HYMNb. 

Adom'd with glory from on high. 
Salvation shines upon his face ; 

His robe is of th' ethereal dye. 
His steps are dignity and grace. 

Inferior honours he disdains. 

Nor stoops to take applause fi-om earth 
The King of kings himself maintains 

The expenses of his heavenly birth. 

The noblest creature seen below, 
Ordain'd to fill a throne above ; 

God gives him aU he can bestow, 
His kingdom of eternal love I 

My soul is ravish 'd at the thought! 

Methinks from earth I see him rise! 
Angels congratulate his lot, 

And shout him welcome to the skies ! 



LI. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR 

I WAS a groveling creature once. 

And basely cleaved to earth; 
I wanted spirit to renounce 

The clod that gave me birth. 

But God has breath'd upon a worm. 

And sent me from above 
Wings such as clothe an angel's form. 

The wings of joy and love. 

With these to Pisgah's top I fly. 

And there delighted stand. 
To ^aew beneath a shining sky 

The spacious promised land. 

The Lord of all the vast domain 

Has promised it to me ; 
The length and breadth of »11 the plain 

As far as faith can see 



HYM^S. 41 



How glorious is my privilege I 

To thee for help I call ; 
[ stand upon a mourtain's ed^e, 

Oh save me, lest I fall! 

Though much exalted in the Lord, 
My strength is not my own ; 

Then let me tremble at his word. 
And none shall cast me down. 



LII. FOR THE POOR. 

When Hagar found the bottle spent 

And wept o'er Ishmael, 
A message from the Lord was sent 

To guide her to a well.* 

Should not Elijah's cake and cruset 

Convince us at this day, 
A gracious God will not refuse 

Provisions by the way ? 

His saints and servants shall be fed. 

The promise is secure ; 
* Bread shall be given them,' as he said, 

' Their water shall be sure.'J 

Repasts far richer thsy shall pi-ove. 
Than all earth's dainties are; 

Tis sweet to taste a Saviour's love. 
Though in the meanest fare. 

To Jesus then your trouble bring. 

Nor murmur at your lot ; 
While you ai'e poor and he is King, 

You shall not be forA'ct. 



• Oen. xxl. 19. t ! Kin^s xviL 14, 

I Isa. yxxiii. iG. 



42 HYMNS. 



LIII. MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD. 

I THIRST, but not as once I did 
The vain delights of earth to share ; 

Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid 
That I should seek my pleasures there. 

It was the sight of thy dear cross 
First wean'd my soul from earthly things , 

And taught me to esteem as dross 
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. 

I want that grace that springs from thee, 
That quickens all things where it flows. 

And makes a wretched thorn like me 
Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose. 

Dear fountain of delight unknown ! 

No longer sink below the brim ; 
But overflow, and pour me down 

A living, and life-giving stream ! 

For sure, of all the plants that share 

The notice of thy Father's eye. 
None proves less grateful to his care 

Or yields him meaner fniit than 1. 



LIV. LOVE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE. 

No strength of nature can suffice 

To serve the Lord aright: 
And what she has she misapplies, 

For want of clearer light. 

How long beneath the law I lay 

In bondage and distress ; 
I toil'd the precept to obey. 

But toil'd without succcsa. 



HYMNS. m 48 

Then, to abstain from outward siu 

Was more than I could do ; 
Now, if I feel its power within, 

I feel I hate it too. 

Then all my servile works were done 

A righteovisness to raise ; 
Now, freely chosen in the Sou, 

I freely choose his w^ays. 

* What shall I do,' was then the word, 

* That I may worthier gTow V 

• What shall I render to tlie LordV 

Is my inquiry now. 

To see the law hy Christ fulfiU'd, 

And hear his pardoning voice,. 
Changes a slave into a child,* 

And duty into choice. 



VT. THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED 
BY MERCY. 

SI^ enslaved me maiiy years, 

And led me hound ajid hlind ; 
Till at length a thousand fears 

C-ame swarming" o'er my mind. 
* Where,' said I, in deep distress, 

' Will these sinful pleasures end 1 
How shall I secure my peace. 

And make the Lord my friend f 

Friends and ministers said much 

The gospel to enforce ; 
But my blindness still was such, 

I chose a legal course : 
Much I fasted, watch'd, and strove. 

Scarce would show my face abroad^ 
Fear'd almost to speak or move, 

A stranger still to God. 



• Romans iil. 31. 



461 



44 HVMNh. 

Thus afraid to trust his g-race, 

Long time did I rebel ; 
Till despairing- of my case, 

Down at his feet I fell : 
Then my stubborn Iseart he hroie 

And subdued me to his sway ; 
By a simple word he spoke, 

* Thy sins are done away.' 



LVI. HATRED OF SIN. 

Holy Lord God ! I love thy truth, 
Nor dare thy least commandment slight ; 

Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth, 
I moui-u the ani^iiish of the bite. 

But though the poison lurks within, 
Hope bids me still with patience wait ; 

Till death shall set me free from sin. 
Free from the only thing I hate. 

Had I a throne above the rest, 
Where angels and archangels dwell, 

One sin, unslain, within my bi'east. 
Would make that heaven as dark as hell. 

The prisoner sent to breathe fresh air, 

And bless'd with libei-ty again. 
Would mourn, were he condemn'd to wear 

One link of all his former chain. 
But, oh, no foe invades the bliss. 

When glory cro^vns the Christian's head ; 
One view of Jesus as he is 

Will strike all sin for ever dead. 



LVII. THE NEW CONVERT. 

The new-born child of gospel grace, 

lake some fair tree when summer's nigh. 

Beneath Emmanuel's shining face 
Lifts up his blooming branch on high. 



HYMNS. 

No fears he feels, he sees no foes. 
No conflict yet his faith employs. 

Nor has he learnt to whom he owes 
The strength and peace his soul cnjo56. 

But sin soon darts its cruel sting, 
And comforts sinking day by day : 

What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring, 
Proves but a brook that glides away. 

When Gideon arm'd his numerous host. 
The Lord soon made his numbers less , 

And said, ' Lest Israel vainly boast,* 
" My arm procured me this success. "* ' 

Thus will he bring our spirits down 
And draw our ebbing comforts low. 

That saved by grace, but not our own. 
We may not claim the praise we owe . 



LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS 

O God, whose favourable eye 

The sin sick soul revives, 
Holy and heavenly is the joy 

Thy shining presence gives. 

Not such as hyT)ocrite3 suppose. 

Who with a graceless heart 
Taste not of thee, but drink a dose. 

Prepared by Satan's art. 

Intoxicating joys are theirs. 

Who, while they boast their light. 

And seem to soar above the stars. 
Are plunging into night. 

Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep, 

They sin and yet rejoice ; 
Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep 

Would they not hear his voice 1 

* Judges vii. 9. 

4M 



46 HYMiNh. 

Be mine the comforts that reclaim 
The soul from Satan's power ; 

That make me blush for what I am, 
And hate my sin the more. 

'Tis joy enough, my All in All, 

At thy dear feet to lie ; 
Thou wilt not let me lower fall, 

And none can higher fly. 



LIX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH. 

The Lord receives his highest praise 

Prom humble minds and hearts sincere ; 

While all the loud professor says 
Offends the righteoua Judge's ear. 

To walk as children of the day, 
To mark the precepts' holy light. 

To wage the warfare, watch, and pray, 
Show who are pleasing in his sight. 

Not words alone it cost the Lord, 
To purchase pardon for his own ; 

Nor wiU a soul by grace restored 
Return the Saviour words alone. 

With golden bells, the priestly vest. 
And rich pomegranates border'd round,* 

The need of holiness express'd. 
And call'd for fruit as well as sound. 

Easy, indeed, it were to reach 
A mansion in the courts above. 

If swelling words and fluent speech 
Might serve instead of faith and love 

But none shall gain the blissful place. 

Or G<"'d's unclouded gloi-y see, 
Who talks of free and sovereign grace, 

Unlesa that grace has made him free I 

* Exod. xxviii. 38. 



HY.^;.sS. « 



LX. ABUSE OF TH'^; GOSPEL. 

Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace 

In this licentious day ; 
And while they boast they see thy facej 

They turn their own away. 

Thy book displays a gi-acious light 

That can the blind i-estore ; 
But these are dazzled by the sisht. 

And blinded still the more. 
The pardon such presume upon, 

They do not beg, but steal ; 
And when they plead it at thy throne. 

Oh I Where's the Spirit's seal 1 
Was it for this, ye lawless tiibe. 

The dear Redeemer bled ? 
Is this the grace the saints imbibe 

From Christ the Uving head ? 
Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few 

Are fed with heavenly fare ; 
But these, the wretched husks they chew 

Proclaim them what they are. 

The liberty' our hearts implore 

Is not to live in sin ; 
But still to wait at -^visdom's door, 

Till mercy calls us in. 



LXI. THE NARROW WAY. 

What thousands never knew the road ( 

What thousands hate it when 'tis known I 
None but the chosen tribes of God 

Will seek or choose it for their own. 
A thousand ways in ruin end, 

One only leads to joys on high ; 
By that my willing steps ascend, 

Pleased with a journey to the sky. 



HYMNS. 

No more I ask or hope to find 

Delight or happiness below ; 
Sorrow may well possess the mmd 

That feeds where thorns and thistles groW* 

The joy that fades is not for me, 

I seek immortal joys above ; 
There glory without end shall be 

The bright reward of faith and love. 

Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms. 
Contented lick your native dust; 

But God shall fight, with all his storms, 
Against the idol of your trust. 



LXIL DEPENDENCE. 

To keep the lamp alive, 

With oil we fill the bowl ; 
'Tis water makes the willow thrive, 

And grace that feeds the soul. 

The Lord's unsparing hand 

Supplies the living stream; 
It is not at our own command. 

But still derived from him. 
Beware of Peter's word,* 

Nor confidently say, 
• I never will deny thee. Lord,' 

But, ' Grant 1 never may.' 

Man's wisdom is to seek 

His strength in God alone ; 
And e'en an angel would be weak. 

Who trusted in his own. 

Retreat beneath his wings. 

And in his grace confide ; 
This more exalts the King of kingsf 

Than all your works beside. 

In Jesus is our store, 

Grace issues from his throne; 

Whoever says, ' I want no more,' 
Confesses he has none. 

» Matthew xxvi. S3. ♦ John vl. a*. 



HYMNS. 



LXIII. NOT OF WORKS. 

Grace, triumphant in the throne, 
Scorns a rival, reigns alone ; 
Come and bow beneath her sway. 
Cast your idol works away. 
Works of man, when made his plea, 
Never shall accepted be; 
Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm!) 
Are the best he can perform. 

Self, the god his soul adores, 
Influences all his powers; 
Jesus is a slighted name. 
Self-advancement all his aim : 
But when God the Judge shall come, 
To pronounce the final doom, 
Then for rocks and hills to hide 
All his works and all his pride I 
Still the boasting heart replies, 
What! the worthy and the wise, 
Friends to temperance and peace. 
Have not these a righteousness ? 
Banish every vain pretence 
Built on human excellence; 
Perish every thing in man. 
But the grace that never can. 



LXIV. PRAISE FOR FAITH. 

Of all the gifts thine hand bestows, 

Thou Giver of all good! 
Not heaven itself a richer knows 

Than my Redeemer's blood. 

Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, 
From the same hand we gain ; 

Else, sweetly as it suits our case, 
That gift had been in vain. 

Till thou thy teaching power apply, 

Our hearts refuse to see. 
And weak, as a distemper'd eye, 

Shut out the view of thee. 

Blind to the merits of thy Son, 

What misery we endure* 
Yet fly that hand from which alone 

We could expect a cure. 
D 



00 HYMNS. 

W© praise thee, and would praise thee more. 

To thee our all we owe ; 
The precious Saviour, and the power 

That makes him precious too. 



LXV. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. 
Almighty King! whose wondrous hand 
Supports the weight of sea and land, 
Whose grace is such a boundless store. 
No heart shall break that sighs for mor*» 
Thy providence supplies my food. 
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good ; 
My soul is nourish'd by thy word. 
Let soul and body praise the Lord. 
My streams of outward comfort came 
From him who built this earthly frame j 
Whate'er I want his bounty gives. 
By whom my soul for ever lives. 
Either his hand preserves from pain, 
Or, if I feel it, heals again 5 
From Satan's malice shields my breast, 
Or overrules it for the best. 
Forgive the song that falls so low, 
Beneath the gratitude I owe ; 
It means thy praise, however poor, 
An angel's song can do no more. 



LXVI. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL 
TIMES. 
Winter has a joy for me. 

While the Saviour's charms I read, 
Lowly, meek, from blemish free. 

In the snowdrop's pensive head. 
Spring returns, and brings alone 

Life-invigorating suns : 
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song 

Seems to speak his dying groansl 
Summer has a thousand charms, 

All expressive of his worth; 
'Tis his sun that lights and warms, 

His the air that cools the cartl*. 
What! has Autumn left to say 

Nothing of a Saviour's grace ? 
Yes, the beams of milder day 

Tell me of his smiling face. 

408 



HYMNS. 

Light appears with early dawn, 

While the sun makes haste to rise; 
8eo his o.'eeding beauties drawn 

On the blushes of the skies. 
Evening with a silent pace. 

Slowly moving in the west. 
Shows an emblem of his grace — 

Points to an eternal rest. 



61 



LXVII. THE WAITING SOUL. 
Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord, 

And cheer me from the north ; 
Blow on the treasures of thy word. 

And call the spices forth ! 
I wish, thou know'st, to be resign'd. 

And wait with patient hope; 
But hope delay'd fatigues the mind, 

And dr'iiks the spirits up. 
Help me to reach the distant goal. 

Confirm my feeble knee, 
Pity the sickness of a soul 

That faints for love of thee. 
Cold as I feel this heart of mine, 

Yet since \ feel it so, 
It yields some hope of life divine 

Within, however low. 
I seem forsaken and alone; 

I hear the lion roar; 
And every door is shut but one. 

And that is mercy's door. 
There, till the dear Dcliv'rcr come, 

I'll wait with humble pray'r; 

And when he calls his exile home. 

The Lord shall find him there. 



FRAGMENT OF A HYMN, 

To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope, 

My soul is in haste to begone ; 
O bear me, ye cherubims, up, 

And waft me away to his throne 1 
My Saviour, whom absent I love. 

Whom not having seen I adore; 
Whose name is exalted above 

All glory dominion, and power— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH 

OF 

MADAME DE l.A MOTHE GUION 

THE NATIVITY 

'Tk folly all — ^let me no more be told 
Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold ; 
Delig-htful views of nature, dress'd by art, 
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart ; 
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth, 
Makes mean the proiid magnificence of earth ; 
'I"he straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall, 
Eclipse its lustre ; and I scorn it all. 

Canals, and fountains, and delicLms vales. 
Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails ; 
Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise, 
Earth-bom, and yet ambitious of the skies ; 
The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades, 
Vainly the sun in all its power invades ; 
Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound, 
Whose verdui'e lives while Winter scowls around : 
Rocks, lofty momitains, caverns dark and deep. 
And torrents raving down the rugged steep; 
Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits 

cheer; [clear 

Meads crown'd with flowers ; streams musical and 
Whose silver waters, and whose murmurs, join 
Their artless channs, to make tlie scene divine ; 
The fi-idtful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain, 
'i'hat seems a rolling sea of golden grain : 
All, all have lost the channs they once posscss'd; 
An infant God reigns sovereign in my breast; 
From Bethlehem's bosom I no more will rove ; 
There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love 

Ye mightier rivers, that, with sounding force. 
Urge down the valleys your impetuous course ! 

470 



risAiNbl^\J'iOiSti FROM GUION. 6 

Winds, (iloiids and iip;htn lags ! and, ye waves wkoso 

heads, 
Ciirl'd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads ! 
Horrid abyss, where all experience fails. 
Spread with the wreck of planks and shatter'd sails ; 
On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides. 
While havoc floats on all thy SM^elling tides. 
Thy shores a scene of ruin, strew'd around 
With vessels bulged, and bodies of the drown'd ! 

Ye fish, tliat sport beneath the boundless wave». 
And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves; 
Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size. 
Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes ! 
Had I but faith immoveable and true, 
I might defy the fiercest storm, like you: 
The world, a more disturb d and boisterous sea. 
When Jesus shows a smilSj affrights not me ; 
He hides me, and in vain the billows roar. 
Break hannless at my feet, and leave the shore. 
Thou azure vault, where through the gloom of 
night, 
Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light I 
Thou moon, whose car, encompassing the skies. 
Restores lost nature to our wondei-ing eyes^; 
Again retiring, when the brighter sun 
Begins the course he seems in haste to mn ! 
Behold him where he shines! His rapid rays, 
Tliemselves unmeasured, measure all our days • 
Nothing impedes the race he would pui-sue. 
Nothing escapes his peneti-ating view, 
A thousand lands confess his quickening heat 
And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet. 

Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose, 
I feel the thorn, alas! but miss the rose : 
Too well I know this aching heart requires 
More solid good to fill its vast desires ; 
In vain they represent his matchless might. 
Who call'd them out of deep primeval night; 
Their form and beauty but augment my woe: 
I seek the Giver of those charms they show : 
Nor, Him beside, throughout tlie world he made. 
Laves there in whoju I trust for cure or aid. 

4rt 



64 TRANSLATIONS 

lulinito Ood. tl»ou preut unrival'd One! 
Whose ijlory makes ii blot of yo)uK>r sun ; 
i\>iu]>!»rt»il witl\ tliino, how lUm his hoiiuty soeina, 
ilow quoncU'd the vadianoo of his j-tddoii boanis ! 
I'lioii art my bliss, the li.iht by which I move ; 
111 thee alone dwells all that 1 ean love; 
• n darkness flies when thou art pleased to appear, 
A sudden spring- renews the fadinjr year ; 
>\ hereer 1 rum 1 see thy power and firaee, 
ihe watihful iruardians of our heedless race ; 
i'uy various creatures in one strain a,iiTi>e, 
Vll, in all times and places, speak of thee ; 
Ken 1, with treniblinj;- heart and stanunerinu: tongiM> 
Attempt thy praise, and join the ireneral sojig-. 

Almigrhty Former of this wondrous plan, 
Faintly reflected in thine image, man — 
Holy and just— the greatness of wliose name 
Fills luid supports this universal frauie, 
niifused tlinnighout the infinitude of space, 
Who art thyself thine own vast ilwelling-jiTiice: 
Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of oui"s 
Discerns, eluding our most active ^viwei-s; 
Kncircling- shades attend thine awful tluime, 
That veil thy face, aiul keep thee still unknovm 
l-uknowni tlunigh dwtdling- in oiiv inuuist i)art, 
Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heait! 

Repeat the charunng- truth, that never tires. 
No (Jod is like the God my soul desires; 
He at whase voice heaven trembles, even He, 
Great as he is, knows how to stoop to nu> — 
Lo ! there he lies— that smiling- infant said, 
' Heaven, earth, and sea, exist!* — and they obey'd. 
F.Vn He, whose being- swells beyond the skies., 
Ls born of vroman, lives, ami mourns, and dies; 
Kternal and immoi-tal, seems to cast 
T)>at glory from his brows, and breathes liis last. 
Trivial and vain tlie works that man has vn-ouwrht^ 
How do they shrink and vanish at the thought J 

Sweet solitmle, and scene of my repose ! 
lliis rustic siarht assuagvs all my woes — 
Tliat crib contains the Lord, -whom I adore; 
Aiul earth's a shade, that I pursue no nuire. 

47-2 



FROM ULiON. fi 

He is my lii-m support, my rock, ray tcwcr.. 
I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power. 
And held this mean retreat for ever dear 
For all I love, my soul's delijiht, is here. 
I iee the AJmi{;hty swath'd iu infant bands, 
Tied helpless down the thunder-bearer'-s hands 
And, in this shed, that mystery discern. 
Which faith and love, and they alone, can leavj 

Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord 
Ye zephyrs, all your whisper'd sweets adbrd ' 
Confess the God, that fruides the rolling year ; 
Heaven do him horaa^'e; and thou, eailh, revere' 
Ye shepherds, monarchs, sage^, hither brliife 
Your hearts an offering, and adore your King: 
Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love 
Join in his praise, the harmonious world above: 
I'o Bethlehem haste, rejoice in his repose, 
And praise him tliere for all that he bestows ! 

Man, busy man, alas! can ill afford 
To obey the summons, and attend the Lord; 
Perverted reason revels and runs wild, 
By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguil'.d ; 
And, blind to genuine excellence and ^race. 
Finds not her author in so mean a place. 
Ye unbelieving ! learn a wiser part, 
Distrust your errin;>- sense, and search ^-our hca.-t ; 
There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling tlame 
Glow for that infant God, from whom it came; 
Resist not, quench not, that divine desire 
Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire ! 

Not so will 1 requite thee, gentle love ! 
Yielding and soft this heart shall ever pro^ <• ; 
And every heart beneath thy power shoulii fall. 
Glad to submit could mine contain them all- 
But I am poor, oblation I have none, 
None for a Saviour, but himself alone : 
Whate'er I render thee, from thee it came: 
And, if I give my body to the flame. 
My patience, love, and energy divine 
Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine. 
Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score I 
The more I pay, 1 owe thee still the more. 

47« 



66 TtlANSLAilONS 

Upon my meanness, poverty, and g-uilt. 
The trophy of tliy glory shall be built; 
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base, 
And my deformity its fairest grace ; 
For destitute of good, and rich in ill, 
Must be my state and my description still. 

And do I grieve at such an hiunbling lot? 
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought- - 
Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu S 
I have no wish, no memory for you ; 
The more I feel my misery, 1 adore 
The sacred inmate of my soul the more ; 
Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride 
Spring from the sense of having nought beside. 
In Thee I find wealth, comfort, Aii-tue, might; 
My wanderings prove thy wisdom infinite ; 
All that I have I give thee ; and then see 
All contrarieties \mite in thee ; 
For thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe. 
And pouring ovit thy bliss on worms below 
By filling with thy grace and love divine 
A gulf of evil in this heart of mine. 
This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise. 
And the hiUs sink — 'tis matching earth and skies, 
I feel my weakness, thank thee, and deplore 
An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more ; 
The more I love thee, I the more reprove 
A eoul so lifeless, and so slow to love ; 
Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd, 
I plunge into that sea, and there am lost. 



GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY 
THE WORLD. 

Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove. 
Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise ! 
In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove, 
For all the world is blind and wanders from his -ways. 

474 



FROM GUION 57 

I'hat God alone sboxJd prop the sinking soul, 
Pills them with rage against his empire now: 
I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole, 
To seek one simple heart set free from all below, 

Tlii;y speak of love, yet little feel its sway. 
While in their bosoms many an idol lurks ; 
Their base desires, well ^atisfled, obey. 
Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his work*, 

'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more ; 
Your fellowship, ye warblers ! suits me best : 
Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore. 
Profaned by modem tongues, and slighted as a iest. 

My God, who form'd you for his praise alone. 
Beholds his purpose well fulfiU'd in you; 
Come, let us join the choir before his throne, 
Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true! 

Yes, I will always love ; and, as I ought, 
Time to the praise of love my ceaseless voice; 
PrefeiTing love too vast for human thought, 
In suite of erring men, who cavil at my choice. 

Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts. 
Lord of my soul ! that they miglit all be thine ? 
If thou approve— the zeal thy smile imparts. 
How should it ever fail I can such a fire decline ? 

Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire; 
Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze 
Eternal love a God must needs inspire. 
When once he wins the heart, and fits it for hi* 
praise. 

Self-love dismiss'd — 'tis then we live indeed — 
In her embrace, death, only death is found: 
Come, then, one nob'e effort, and succeed. 
Cast off tlie chain of self with which thy soul is 
bound .' 

D2 

475 



58 TRANSLATIONS 

Oh I I could cry, that ail tlie world might hear. 
Ye self-tormeiitors, love yow.' God alone : 
Let his unequal'd excellence be dear. 
Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all yom 
o%Yn ! 

They hear me not — alas ! how fond to rove 

In endless chase of folly'*; specious lure 1 

'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, 

I taste the sweets of truth — here oniy am secure 



! THE SWALLOW. 

1 I AH fond of the swallow — I Icarn fmni her flight. 

Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love : 
I How seldom on earth do we see her ali<iht ! 

I She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. 

I Pt is on the wing* that she takes her repose, 

j Suspended and poised in the regions of air, 

j Jt> 'Tis not in our iields that her sustenance gTows, 

i It is wing'd like herself, 'tis ethereal fare. 

1 She comes m the spring, all the summer she stays, 

j And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun — 

So, true to our love, we should covet his rays, 
I And the place where he shines not, immediately shun 

i Our light should be love, and our nourishment prayer ; 

I It is dangerous food that we find upon earth ; 

The fruit of this world is beset with a snare. 
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 

'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below. 

And only when building a nest for her yomig; 

Were it not for her brood, slie would never bestow 

A thouglit upon any thing filthy as dung. 

Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode), 

To bask every moment in iniinite love ; 

Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road 

ITiat leads to the dayspring appearing above. 

470 



FROM or ION. 5» 

THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE 
DESIRED. 

Ah ! reign, wherever man is found, 

My spouse, beloved and divine : 
Then I am rich, and I abound. 

When every human heart is thine. 

A thousand sorrows pierce my soul, 
To thimk. that all are not thine own : 

Ah I be adored frona pole to pole ; 
Wnere is thy zeal I arise ; be known I 

All hearts are cold, in every place, 

Yet earthly good with warmth pursue; 

DissolA'e them with a flash of gTace, 
Thaw these of ice, and give us new ! 



A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THB 
PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE, 

(M BRINGING A SOUL TO THB POINT OK SELK-RESDH 
ClATION AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE. 

TwAS my pxirp<jse, on a day, 

To embark, and sail away ; 

As I climb'd the vessel's side, 

Love was spoiting in the tide ; 

' Come,' he said, — • ascend — make haste. 

Launch into the boundless waste.' 

Many mariners were there. 
Having each his separate care ; 
They that row'd us held their eyes 
Fix'd upon the svarry skies ; 
Othei-s fateer'd, or tiu-n'd the sailfs 
To receive the shifting ga'ess. 



TKaNSLATIONS 
Love, with power divine suppUad^ 
Suddenly my cotu-age tried ; 
In a moment it was night. 
Ship and skies were out of sigiit ; 
On the briny wave I lay, 
Floating rushes all my staj. 

Did I with resentment bum 

At this unexpected turn ? 

Did I wish myself on shore, 

Never to forsake it more ? 

No — ' My soul,' I cried, * be still ; 

If I must be lost, I will.' 

Next he hasten'd to convey 
Both my frail supports away; 
Seized my rushes ; bade the waves 
Yawn into a thousand graves : 
Down I went, and sunk as lead, 
Ocean closing o'er my head. 

Still, however, life was safe ; 
And I saw him turn and laugh : 
•Friend,' he cried, ' adieu! lie low. 
While the winti-y stornis shall blow ; 
When the spring: has calm'd tlie maizz. 
You shall rise and float again.' 

Soon I saw him, with dismay, 
Spread his plumes, and soar away; 
Nov,' I mark his rapid flii^ht ; 
Now he leaves my aching sight ; 
He is gone whom I adore, 
'Tis in vain to seek him more. 

How I trembled then and fear'd. 

When my love had disappear'd ! 

'Wilt thou leave me thus,' I cried, 

* Whelm'd beneath the rolling tide V \ 

Vain attempt to reach his ear! [ 

liOve was gone, and would not hear. i 



FROM GL'ION. 61 

Ah I return, and love me still; 
See me subject to thy will ; 
Frown with wrath, or smile with grace* 
Only let me see thy face ! 
Evil I have none to fear. 
All is good, if thou art near. 

Yet he leaves me — cruel fate I 
Leaves me in my lost estate — 
Have I sinn'd t Oh say wherein ; 
Tell me, and forgive my sinf 
King, and Lord, whom I adore. 
Shall I see thy face no more 1 

Be not angry ; I resign. 

Henceforth, all my will to thine : 

I consent that thou depart. 

Though thine absence breaks my heart 

Go, then, and for ever too ; 

All is right that thou wilt do. 

This was just what love intended, 
H^ was now no more offended ; 
Soon as I became a child. 
Love retum'd to me and smiled : 
Never strife shall more betide 
Twixt the bridegroom and his bride. 



A CHILD OF GOD LONGING TO SEE HIM 
BELOVED. 

There's not an echo round me, 

But I am glad should learn, 
How pure a fire has found me — , 

The love with which I bum. 
For none attends with pleasure 

To what I would reveal ; 
They slight me out of me;iAiuo, 

And laugh at all I feel. 



02 TE,ANSLATIONS 

The rocts receive less proudly 

The stoiy of my flame ; 
When I approach, they loudly 

Reverberate his name. 
I speak to them of sadness. 

And comfoits at a stand ; 
They bid me look for gladness- 

And better days at hand 

Far from all habitation, 

I heard a happy sound ; 
Big with the consolation, 

That I have often found ; 
I said, ' My lot is sorrow. 

My grief has no alloy ;' 
The rocks replied — ' To-morroW;, 

T»-moiTow brings thee joy.' 

These sweet and secret tidings 

What bliss it is to hear ! 
For, spite of all my chidings, 

My weakness and ray fear. 
No sooner I receive them. 

Than I forget my pain, 
And, happy to believe them, 

I love as much again. 

I fly to scenes romantic, 

Where never men resort ; 
For in an age so frantic 

Impiety is sport. 
For riot and confusion 

They barter things above ; 
Condemning, as delusion. 

The joy of perfect love. 

In this sequester'd comci. 

None hears what 1 expreasi, 
Peliver'd from tlie scoraer. 

What peace do I possess ! 
Beneath the boughs recUningi, 

Or roving o'er the wild, 
I live, as uudesigi>ing-. 

And harmless as a child. 



FROM GLION. 

No troubles here sui-prise me, 

I iiinoceutly play, 
While Px'ovidence supplies me. 

And gxiards me all the day : 
My dear and kind defender 

Preserves me safely here, 
"From men of poriip and splendour 

Who fill a child with fear. 



ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD 

My Spouse ! in whose presence I live, 

Sole object of all my desires, 
Who know'st what a lianie I conceive, 

And can'st easily double its fires ; 
How pleasant is all that 1 meet ! 

From fear of adversity free, 
I find even soitow made sweet ; 

Because 'tis assign'd me by thee. 

Ti-ansported I see thee display 

Thy riches and glory divine ; 
I have only ray life to repay, 

Take what I would g'ladly resign. 
Thy will is the tieasure I seek, 

For thou art as faithful as stro ,; ; 
There let me, obedient and meek. 

Repose myself all tiie day long. 

My spirit and faculties fail ; 

Oh finish what love has begun I 
Destroy what is sinful and frail. 

And dwell in the soul thou hast won ; 
Dear theme of my wonder and praise 

I cry, who is worthy as thou ! 
I can only be silent and gaze : 

'Tis all that is left to me novr 



TRANSLATIONS 

Oh glory in which I am lost, 

Too deep for the plummet of thought ; 
On an ocean of deity toss'd, 

I am swallow'd, I sink into nought. 
Yet, lost and absorb'd as I seem, 

I chant to the praise of my King ; 
And, though overwhelm'd by the theme 

Am happy whenever I sing. 



GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD. 

A LI, are indebted much to thee, 

But I far more than all. 
From many a deadly snare set free, 

And raised from many a fall. 
Overwhelm me, from above. 
Daily, with thy boundless love. 

What bonds of gratitude I feel 

No language can declare ; 
Beneath the oppressive weight I reel, 

'Tis more than I can bear : 
When shall I that blessing prove, 
To return thee love for love ? 

Spirit of charity, dispense 

Thy grace to every heart ; 
Expel all other spirits thence, 

Drive self from every part ; 
Charity divine, draw nigh, 
Break the chains in which we lie I 

All selfish soiils, whate'er they feign. 

Have still a slavish lot ; 
They boast of liberty in vain, 

Of love, and feel it not. 
He whose bosom glows with thee 
He, and he alone, is free. 



FROM GUION. 

Oh blessedness, all bliss above 
When thy pure lives prevail ! 

Love only teaches v/hat is love ; 
All other lessons fail : 

We learn its name, but not its powers, 

Experience only makes it ours. 



HAPPY SOLITUDE- UNHAPPY MEN. 

My heart is easy, and my burden light ; 

I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight : 

The more my woes in secret I deplore, 

I taste thy goodness, and I love the more. 

There, while a solemn stillness reigns around. 
Faith, love, and hope within my soul abound ; 
And, while the world suppose me lost in care. 
The joys of angels, unperceived, I share. 

Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign good 
Thou art not loved, because not understood ; 
This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile 
Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile. 

Frail beauty and false honour are adored ; 
While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy word ; 
Pass, unconcern 'd, a Saviour's sorrows by ; 
And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die. 



LIVING WATER. 

The fountain in its source 
No drought of summer fears ; 

The farther it pursues its course. 
The nobler it appears. 

But shallow cisterns yield 

A scanty short supply ; 
The morning sees them amply fill'd> 

At evening they are dry. 



TUANSLATIONS 



TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE KEiECTED BV 
THE WORLD. 

O LOVE, of pure and heavenly birth ! 
O simple tnith, scarce known on earth: 
Whom men resist with stubborn will ; 
And, more perverse and dai-inji- still. 
Smother and quench, with reasonings vain. 
While en-or and deception reign. 

Whence comes it, that, your power the same 
As His on high, from whence you came. 
Ye rarely find a list-^ning ear, 
Or heart that makes you welcome here 1 — 
Because ye hi-ing reproach and pain, 
Where'er ye visit, in your train. 

The world is proud, and cannot bear 
The scorn and calumny ye share ; 
The praise of men the mark they mean. 
They fly the place where ye are seen ; 
Pure love, with scandal in the rear, 
Suits not the Aain ; it costs too dear 

Then, let the pi-ice be what it may. 
Though poor, I am prepared to pay ; 
Come shame, come sonov/ ; spite of tears, 
Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears ; 
One soul, at least, shall not repine, 
To give you room ; come, reign in mine I 



DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE. 

Thou hast no lightnings, O thou Just I 
Or I their force should know ; 

And, if thou strike me into dust. 
My soul approves the blow. 



FROM GUION. 

The heart, that values less its ease 

Than it adores thy ways. 
In thine avenging ang-er sees 

A subject of its praise. 

Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost, 

In shades of central night ; 
Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st, 

But lest 1 grieve thy sight. 

Smite me, tiiou, whom I provoke ! 

And I will love thee still : 
The well deserved, and righteous stroke. 

Shall please me, though it kill. 

Am I not worthy to sustain 
The worst thou canst devise ; 

And dai'e I seek thy throne again, 
And meet thy sacred eyes ? 

Far from afflictirig, thou art kind ; 

And, in my saddest hours. 
An unction of tliy grace I iind, 

Pervading all my fowers. 

Alas I thou sparest me yet again ; 

And, v/hen thy wrath should move. 
Too gentle to endure my pain. 

Thou sooth*st me with thy love. 

I have no punish/jient to fear ; 

But, ah ! that smile from thee 
Imparts a pang far more severe 

Than woe itself would be. 



THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM 
EVERY WHERE. 

Oh thou, by long experience tried, 
Near whom no grief can long abide j 
My love 1 how full of sweet content 
I pass my years of banishment ! 



m 



( TRANSLATIONS 

All scenes alite engaging prove 
To souls impress 'd Avith sacred love ! 
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee ; 
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. 

To me remains nor place nor time 
My country is in every clime ; 
I can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since God is there. 

While place we seek, or place we shim. 
The soul finds happiness in none ; 
But with a God to guide oui" way, 
,'Tis equal joy to go or stay. 

Could I be cast where thou art not. 
That were indeed a dreadful lot ; 
But regions none remote I call. 
Secure of finding God in all. 

My country, Lord, art thou alone ; 
Nor other can I claim or own ; 
The point where all my wishes meet ; 
My law, my love ; life's only sweet! 

I hold by nothing here below ; 

Appoint my journey, and I go ; 

Though pierced by scom, oppress'd by pride; 

I feel thee good — feel nought beside. 

No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
To souls on fire with heavenly love ; 
Though men and devils both condemn. 
No gloomy days arise ft-om them. 

Ah then ! to his embrace repair ; 
My soul, thou art no stranger there , 
There love divine shall be thy guard, 
And peace and safet thy reward. 



4SS 



1 ROM (iiilON. 



THE TESTliMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION. 

How happy are the new-bom race. 
Partakers of adopting grace ; 

'fnw pm-e the bliss they share ! 
Hid from the world and all its eyes. 
Within their heart the blessing lies 

And conscience feels it there. 
The moment we believe, 'tis ours ; 
And if we love with all our powers 

The God from whom it came; 
And if v/e serve with hearts sincere, 
'Tis still discernible and clear, 

An undisputed claim. 
But, ah ! if foul and wilful sin 
Stain and dishonouT us v/ithin. 

Farewell the joy we knew ; 
Again the slaves rf nature's sway, 
In labyrinths of oxir own we stray. 

Without a guide or clue. 

The chaste and pui-e, who fear to grieve 
The gracious spirit they receive, 

His work distinctly ti-ace : 
And, strong in undissembling love, 
Boldly assert and clearly prove 

Their hearts his dwelling-place. 
Oh messenger of dear delight. 
Whose voice dispels the deepest night. 

Sweet peace-proclaiming dove ! 
With thee at hand, to sooth our pains. 
No wish unsatisfied remains 

No task but that of love. 

'Tis love unites what sin divides ; 
The centre, where all bliss resides 

To which the soul once brought, 
Recliiiing on the first great cause. 
From his abounding sweetness draws 

Peace passing human thought. 



TO IRANSLATIONS 

Sorrow foregoes its Datiire there, 
Aiid life assumes a tranquil air. 

Divested of ifcj woes ; 
There sovereign g-oodness soothes'the hrisas^ 
Till then incapable of rest. 

In sacred sure repose. 



DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL. 

Love is the Lord whom T ohey, 
Wliose will transported I perform ; 
The centre of my rest, mj' stay. 
Love's all in all to me, myself a worm. 

For uncreated chai-ms I burn, 

Oppress'd by slavish fear no more ; 

For one in whom I may discera. 

E'en when he frowns, a sweetness I adore. 

He little loves him who complains. 
And finds him rigorous and severe ; 
His heart is sordid, and he feigns. 
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere. 

Love causes grief, but 'tis to move 
And stimulate the slumbering mind ; 
And he has never tasted love, 
Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd 

Sweet is the cross, above all sweet 
To souls enamour d with thy smiles ; 
The keenest woe life ever meets. 
Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles. 

Tis just that God should not be dear 
Where self engrosses all the thought. 
And groans and mnmiurs mate it clear. 
Whatever else is love'i. the Lord ft? not. 



FROM GUION. 71 

The love of thee flows just as much 
As that of ebbing- self subsides ; 
Our hearts, their scantiuess is such. 
Bear not the conflict of two rival tides. 

Both cannot govern in one sohI ; 

Then let self-love be dispossess'd ; 

The love of God deserves the whole. 

And will not dwell with so despised a guestc 



SELF DIFFIDENCE. 

SoDRCE of love, and light of day. 
Tear me from myself away ; 
Every view and thought of mine 
Cast into the mould of thine ; 
Teach, O teach this faithless heart, 
A consistent constant part ; 
Or, if it must live to grow 
More rebellious, break it now! 

Is it thus that I requite 
Grace and goodness i finite? 
Everj' trace of every oon, 
Cancel'd and erased so soon! 
Can I grieve thee, whom I love ; 
Thee, in whom I live and move 1 
If my sorrow touch thee still. 
Save me fi-om so great an ill I 

Oh! the oppressive, irksome weight* 
Felt in an uncertain state ; 
Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu. 
Should I prove at last untrue ! 
Still I choose thee, follow still 
Every notice of thy will ; 
But, unstable, strangely weak. 
Still let slip the good T seek. 



72 TRANSLATIONS 

Self-confiding -wretch, I thought 
i could serve thee as I ought, 
Win thee, and deserve to feel 
All the love thou canst reveal ; 
Trusting self, a bruised reed. 
Is to be deceived indeed : 
Save me from this harm and loss. 
Lest my gold turn all to dross ! 

Self is earthly — faith alone 
Makes an unseen world our own ; 
Faith relinquish'd, how we roam, 
Feel our way, and leave o;ir home ! 
Spurious gems our hopes entice. 
While we scorn the pearl of price ; 
And, preferring servants' pay, 
Cast the children's bread away. 



THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE 

Love! if thy destined sacrifice am I, 
Come, slay thy victim, and prepare tliy fires ; 
Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die 
The death which every soul that lives desires 

I watch my hours, and see them fleet away ; 
The time is long that I have languish'd liere , 
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey. 
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. 

To me 'tis equal, Avhether love ordain 
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease ; 
My soul perceives no real ill in pain ; 
In ease or health no real good she sees. 

One good she covets, and that good alone. 
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free j 
And to prefer a cottage to a throne. 
And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee. 



490 



FROM GUION. 73 

Tliat we should bear the cross is thy command. 
Die to the world, and live to self no more ; 
Suffer, unmov'd, beneath the rudest hand. 
As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore, 



REPOSE IN GOD. 

Blest I who, far from all mankind 
This world's shadows left behind. 
Hears from heaven a gentle strain 
Whispering love, and loves again. 

Blest! who, free from self-esteem. 
Dives into the great Supreme, 
All desire beside discards, 
Joys inferior none regards. 

Blest ! who in thy bosom seeks 
Rest that nothing earthly breaks. 
Dead to self and worldly things, 
Lost in thee, thou King of kings! 

Ye that know my secret fire, 
Softly speak and soon retire ; 
Favour my divine repose. 
Spare the sleep a God bestows. 



GLORY TO GOD ALONE. 

Oh loved ! but not enough — though dearer far 
Than seW and its most loved enjoyments are ; 
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free 
From sensual objects, finds his all in thee. 

Glory of God ! thou sti-anger here below. 
Whom man nor knows, nor feclfs a wish to tno^ 
Our faith and reason are both shock'd to find 
•SI an in the post of honour — Thee behind. 
E 



74 'J'RANSLATIONS 

Reason exclaims--' Ii€t every creature fall. 
4shame(l, abased, before the Lord of all ;' 
And faith, o'erwhelm'd with such a dazzling blazCj 
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys. 

Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind. 
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind. 
In frantic competition dares the skits, 
^d claims precedence of the Only Wise. 

Oh lost in vanity, till once self-known ! 
Nothing is great, or good, but God alone ; 
When thou shalt stand before his awful face, 
Then, at the last, thy pride shall know his place. 

Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end ! 
When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend ? 
When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conquering rays. 
And teach these atoms, thou hast made, thy j)iais« ' 

Thy glory is the sweetest heaven I feel ; 
And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal. 
Thy lo\e, triumphant o'er a selfish will, 
Taught me the passion, and inspires it still. 

My reason, all my faculties, unite. 
To make thy glory their supreme delight, 
Forbid it, fountain of my brightest days, 
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise I 

My soul ! rest happy in thy low estate. 
Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great" 
To take the impression of a will divine. 
Be that thy glory, and those" riches thine. 

Confess him righteous in his just decrees.. 

Love what he loves, and let his pleasiu-e please ; 

Die daily ; from the touch of sin recede ; 

riien thon hast crown'd him, and he reigns indec 



FROM GUION. 7fi 



SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE. 

From thorny \vilds a monster came. 
That fill'd my soul with fear and shame ; 
The birds, forgetful of their mirth, 
Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth ; 
When thus a sage address'd mine ear, 
Himself unconscious of a fear. 

* Whence all this teiTor and sui-prisej 
Distracted looks, and streaming- eyes 1 
Far from the world and its affairs, 
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares, 
SuiTender, without g^iile or art. 
To God, an undivided heart ; 
The savage form, so fear'd before. 
Shall scare your trembling soul no more ; 
For loathsome as the sight may be, 
'Tis but the love of self you see. 
Fix all your love on God alone, 
Choose but his will, and hate your own : 
No fear shall in your pat'u be found, 
The dreary waste shall bloom around, 
And you, through all your happy days. 
Shall bless his name, and sing his praise.* 

Oh lovely solitude, how sweet 
The silence of this calm retreat I 
Here truth, the fair whom I pursue, 
Gives all her beauty to my view ; 
The simple, unadom'd display 
Charms every pain and fear aAvay. 
O truth, whom millions proudly slight; 
O truth, my treasure and delight; 
Accept this tribute to thy name. 
And this poor heart from which it came I 



493 



76 TRANSLATIONS 



THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFB. 

Since life in sorrow must be spent. 
So be it — I am well content, 
And meekly wait my last remove, 
Seeking only growth in love 

No bliss I seek, but to fulfill 
In life, in death, thy lovely will ; 
No succours in my woes 1 want. 
Save what thou art pleased to grant. 

Our days are number'd, let us spare 
Our anxious hearts a needless care: 
'Tis thine to number out our days ; 
Ours to give them to thy praise. 

Love is our only business here, 
Love, simple, constant, and sincere 
O blessed days, thy servants see I 
Spent, O Lord 1 in pleasing thee. 



LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF T}^ i 
BELOVED. 

In vain ye woo me to your haiinless joys. 
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise ; 
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow. 
Breath 'd forth in happier days, are irksome now; 
Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see. 
Such scenes, such pleasm-es, are all past with me. 

In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still ; 
And though I mourn, not munuur at his will; 
I have no cause — an object all divine 
Might well grow weai-y of a soul like mine ; 
Yet pity me, great God 1 forlorn, alone, 
Heartless and hopeless, life and love all g«ne. 

49) 



FROM GUlOW T9 



LOVE PURE AND FERVENT. 

Jealous, and witli love o'erfiowingf, 
God demands a fervent heart ; 

Grace and bounty still bestowing'. 
Calls us to a grateful part. 

Oh, then, with supreme affection 

His paternal will regard ! 
If it cost us some dejection, 

Every sigh has its reward. 

Perfect love has pov/er to soften 
Cares that might our peace destroy. 

Nay, does more — transforms them ofteB« 
Changing sorrow into joy. 

Sovereign love appoints the measure. 
And the number of our pains ; 

And is pleased when we lind pleasure 
In the trials he ordains. 



THE ENTIRE SURRENDER. 

Peace has unveil'd her smiling face, 
And woos thy soul to her embrace, 
Enjoy'd with ease, if thou refrain 
From earthly love, else sought in vain; 
She dwells with all who ti-uth prefer. 
But seeks not them who seek not her. 

Yield to the Lord, with simple heart* 
All that thou hast, and all thou art ; 
Renoimce all strength but strength dirUMi 
And peace shall be for ever thine : 
Behold the path which I have trod. 
My path, till I go home to God. 

405 



TO TilANSLATlOJNS 



THE PERFECT SACRIFICE. 

I FUiiCE an offering at tliy sbrina. 

From taint and blemish clear. 
Simple and pure in its design. 
Of all that I hold dear. 

I yield thee hack thy gifts again. 
Thy gifts which most I prize ; 

Desirous only to retain 
The notice of thine eyes. 

But if, by thine adored decree. 
That blessing- be denied ; 

Resign'd, and unreluctant, see 
My every wish subside. 

Thy will in all things I approve. 

Exalted or cast down ! 
Thy will in every state I love. 

And even in thy frown. 



GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE 

To lay the soul that loves him low. 

Becomes the Only Wise : 
To hide, beneath a veil of woe. 

The children of the skies. 

Man, though a worm, would yet be great 
Though feeble, would seem strong : 

Assumes an independent state. 
By sacrilege and wrong. 

Strange the reverse, which, once abasedj 
The haughty creature proves I 

He feels his soul a barren waste. 
Nor dares affirm he loves. 

496 



FROM GUION. 79 

Scom'd by the thoughtless aud the \ ain. 

To God he presses near ; 
Superior to the world's disdain, 

And happy in its sneer. 
Oh welcome, in his heart he says, 

Humility and shame I 
Farewell the wish for human praise. 

The music of a name I 
But will not scandal mar the good 

That I might else perform f 
And can God work it, if he would. 

By so despised a worm 1 
Ah, vainly anxious! — leave the Lord 

To rule thee, and dispose ; 
Sweet is the mandate of his word. 

And gracious all he does. 
He draws from human littleness 

His grandeur and renown ; 
4iid generous hearts with joy confess 

The triumph all his own. 
Down then with self-exalting thought* ; 

Thy faith and hope employ. 
To welcome all that he allots. 

And suffer shame with joy. 
No longer, then, thou wilt encroach 

On his eternal right ; 
And he shall smile at thy approach, 

And make thee his delight. 



THE SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE ARE TO 
BE KEPT. 

Sun ! stay thy course, this moment stay 

Suspend the o'erflowing tide of day. 

Divulge not such a love as mine. 

Ah 1 hide the mystery divine ; 

Lest man, who deems my glory shame. 

Should learn the secret of my flame. 



TRA-NSLATIONS 

O night ! propitious to my views, 
Thy sable a\\niiu'^ wide diffuse ; 
Conceal alike my joy and pain, 
Nor draw thy curtain back again, 
Though morning, by the tears she shows. 
Seems to pai-ticipate my woes. 

Ye stars I whose faint and feeble fires 

Express my languishing desires. 

Whose slender beams pervade the skies 

As silent as my secret sighs. 

Those emanations of a soul, 

That darts her fires beyond the Pole ; 

Yotir rays, that scarce assist the sight, 
That pierce, but not displace the night. 
That shine indeed, but nothing show 
Of all those various scenes below, 
Bring no disturbance, rather prove 
Incentives to a sacred love. 

Thou moon ! whose never-failing course 

Bespeaks a providential force. 

Go, tell the tidings of my Hame 

To Him wlio calls the stars by name ; 

Whose absence kills, whose presence cheen; 

Whff blots, or brightens, all my years. 

While, in the blue abyss of space. 
Thine orb performs its rapid race ; 
Still whisper in his listening ears 
The language of my sighs and tears; 
Tell him, I seek him, far below. 
Lost in a wUdemess of woe. 

Ye thought-composing, silent hovirs, 
Diffusing peace o'er all my powers ; 
Friends of the pensive ! who conceal. 
In darkest shades, the flames I feel ; 
To you I trust, and safely may, 
The love that wastes my streng^ away 



FROM GUION. SI 

Iv sylvan scenes, and caverns rude, 
I taste the sweets of solitude ; 
Retired indeed, but not alone, 
I share them with a spouse unknown, 
Who hides me here, from envious eyes. 
From all intrusion and surprise. 

Imbowering shades, and dens profound I 
Where echo rolls the voice around ; 
Moiuitains! v/hose elevated heads, 
A moist and misty veil o'erspreads ; 
Disclose a solitary bride 
To him I love — to none beside. 

Ye rills! that, murmuring all the way. 
Among the polish'd pebbles stray; 
Creep silently along- the ground, 
Lest, drawn by that harmoniovis sound. 
Some wanderer, whom I would not meet. 
Should stumble on my loved retreat. 

Enamel'd meads, and hilloclcs green, 
And streams that water all the scene f 
Ye torrents, loud in distant ears I 
Ye fountains, that receive my tears I 
Ah! still conceal, with caution due, 
A charge I tnist \\dth none but you. 

If, when my pain and giief increase, 
I seem to enjoy the sv/eetest peace. 
It is becaiLse I find so fair 
The charming object of my care. 
That I can sport and pleasure make 
Of torment suifer'd for his sake. 

Ye meads and groves, unconscious things I 
Ye know not whence my pleasure springs j 
Ye know not, and ye cannot know, 
The source from which my sorrows flow : 
The dear sole cause of ail I feel,- 
He knows and understands them well. 
E2 

400 



TRANSLATIONS 

Ye deserts ! where the wild beasts tore. 
Scenes sacred to my hours of love ; 
Ye forests 1 in whose shades I stray 
Benighted under burning day ; 
Ah ! whisper not how blest am I, 
Nor while I live, nor when I die. 

Ye lambs ! who sport beneath these shad« 

And bound along- the mossy glades ; 

Be taught a sahitary fear, 

And cease to bleat when I am near : 

The wolf may hear your harmless cry, 

Whom ye shoidd dread as much as I. 

How calm, amid these scenes, my mind 

How perfect is the peace I find ! 

Oh hush, be still, my every part. 

My tongue, my pulse, my beating heait i 

That love, aspiring to its cause. 

May suffer not a moment's pause. 

Ye swift-finn'd nations, that abide 
In seas, as fathomless as wide ; 
And, unsuspicious of a snare, 
Pursue at large your pleasures there : 
Poor sportive fools ! how soon does man 
Your heedless ignorance trepan 1 

Away ! dive deep into the brine, 
Where never yet sunk plummet line 
Trust me, the vast leviathan 
Is mercifxil, compared with man ; 
Avoid his arts, forsake the beach. 
And never play within his reach. 

My soul her bondage ill endures ; 

I pant for liberty like yours ; 

I long for that immense profound. 

That knows no bottom, and no bound ; 

Lost in infinity, to prove 

The incomprehensible of love. 



FROM GUION. 

Ye birds ! that lessen as ye fly. 
And vanish in the distant sky ; 
To whom yon airy waste belongs, 
Resounding with your cheerful songrs ; 
Haste to escape from human sight ; 
Fear less, the vulture and the kite. 

How hlest, and how secure am I, 
When q\iitting earth, I soar on high ; 
When lost, like you 1 disappear. 
And float in a suhlimer sphere ! 
Whence falling, within human view, 
I am ensnared, and caught like you. 

Omniscient God, whose notice deigns 
To try the heart and search the reins ; 
Compassionate the numerous woes, 
I dare not, e'en to tliee, disclose ; 
Oh save me fiom the cruel hands 
Of men, who fear not thy commands I 

Love, all-subduing and divine. 
Care for a creature truly thine ; 
Reign in a heart, disposed to own 
No sovereigii but tliyself alone ; 
Cherish a bride who cannot rove. 
Nor qiut thee for a meaner love ! 



THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN THS 
CHRISTIAN LIFE. 

I SUFFER fruitless ang-uish day by day. 
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain ; 
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray, 
And see no end of all that I sustain. 

The more I strive the more I am withstood ; 
Anxiety increasing every hour. 
My spiiit folds no rest, perfoi-ms no good, 
Aud nought remains of all my former power. 



S4 TRANSL(5lTI0NS 

My peace of heart is fled, I know not where ; 
My happy hours, Kke shadows, pass'd away; 
Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care, 
Ni«ht darker seems, succeeding such a day. 

Dear faded joys and impotent regret, 
What profit is there in incessant tears ? 
Oh Thou, whom once beheld, we ne'er forget. 
Reveal thy love, and banish all my fears 1 

Alas ! he flies me — treats me as his foe, 
Views not my sorrows, hears not when ! plead ; 
Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe, 
Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. 

Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive ; 
My pang-s are keen, but no complaint transpires : 
And, while in teiTors of thy ^vl•ath I live, 
Hell seems to loose its less ti'eraeiidoiLS fires. 

Has hell a pain 1 would not gladly bear. 
So thy severe displeasure might subside I 
Hopeless of ease, I seem already there. 
My life extinguish'd, and yet death denied. 

Is this the joy so promised — this the love. 
The unchanging' love, so sworn in better days '( 
Ah I dang'erous glories ! sho^vn me, but to prove 
How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze. 

Why did I see them I had I still remain'd 
Untaught, still ignorant hov/ fair thou art. 
My humbler wishes I had soon obtain'd. 
Nor kno^\^l the torments of a doubting- heart 

Deprived of all, yet feeling- no desires. 
Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain? 
Dubious and iiniuform'd, my soul inquires, 
Ought she to cherish, or shake off her pain f 

Suffering, i suffer not — sincerely love, 
Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame ; 
As chaiice inclines me, unconcei-n'd 1 move, 
All times, and all events to me the same. 



FKOM GUIOM. ge 

I search my heart, and not a wish is there, 
But bums with zeal that hated self may tall ; 
Such is the sad disquietude I share, 
A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. 

I ask not life, nor do I wish to die ; 
And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure, 
I would not piu'chase, with a single sigh, 
A free discharge from all that I endure. 

I groan in chains, yet want not a release ; 
Am sick, and know not the distemper'd pait , 
Am just as void of purpose as of peace ; 
Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart. 

My claim to life, though sought with earnest care, 
No light within me, or without me, shows ; 
Once I had faith, but now, in self-despair 
Find my chief cordial and my best repose. 

My soul is a forgotten thing ; she sinks. 
Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise ; 
Feels an indifFerence she abhors, and thinks 
Her name erased for ever from the skies. 

Language affords not my distress a name, — 
Yet is it real, and no sickly dream ; 
Tis love inflicts it ; though to feel that flame 
Is all I know of happiness supreme. 

When love departs, a chaos wide and vast. 
And dark as hell, is open'd in the soul ; 
When love returns, the gloomy scene is past. 
No tempests shake her, and no fears control. 

Tlien tell me wliy these ages of delay ? 
Oh love, all excellent, etnce more appear ; 
Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day. 
From this abyss of night, these floods of fear I 

No — love is angry, ^%^ll not now endure 

A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint ; 

He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the curt: 

Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint. 



8€ TRANSLATIONS 

He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blowj 
He flies, he reappears, and wounds again — 
Was ever heart that loved thee treated so ? 
Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. 

And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind, 
Thou didst distinguish, and vouchsafe to choose. 
Before thy laws were written in my mind, 
While yet the world had all my thoughts and views i. 

Now leave me ? when, enamour'd of thy laws, 
I make thy glory my supreme delight ; 
Now blot me from thy register, and cause 
A faithful soul to perish from thy sight 1 

What can have caused the change which I deplore 
Is it to prove me, if my heart be true 1 
Permit me then, while prostrate I adore, 
To draw, and place its picture in thy view 

'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine ; 
So given to thee, that it is not my own ; 
A willing captive of thy grace divine ; 
And loves and seeks thee, for thyself alone. 

Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare ; 
Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust; 
It loves thee, e'en when least inclined to spare 
Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just. 

'Tis all thine own ; my spirit is so too. 

An undivided offering at thy shrine ; 

It seeks thy glory with no double view, ». 

Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine. 

Love, holy love ! and art thou not severe. 
To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fix'd? 
Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear 
From all self-bias, cenerous and unmix'd. 

But I am silent, seeing what I see — 
And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceiredj 
Not e'en my faith is from suspicion free, 
And, that I love, seems not to be believed. 

504 



FROM GUION 

Live thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord! 
My last, least offering-, I present thee now — 
Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored ! 
Blay me, my God, and I applaud the blow. 



8? 



WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT 

SEASON. 

Sleep at last has fled these eyes, 
Nor do I regTet his flight, 
More alert my spirits rise. 
And my heart is free and light. 

Nature silent all around. 

Not a single witness near; 

God as soon as sought is found ; 

And the flame of love buras clear. jA 

Interruption, all day long. 
Checks the cun-ent of my joys ; 
Creatures press me with a throng, 
JinA pei-plex me with their noise. 

Undisturb'd I muse all night, 
On the first Eternal Fair; 
Nothing there obstructs delight. 
Love is renovated there. 

Life, with its perpetual stir, 
Proves a foe to love and me ; 
Fresh entanglements occur — 
Gomes the night, and sets me free 

Never more, sweet sleep, suspend 
My enjoj-ments, alv/ays new: 
Leave me to possess my friend ; 
)ther eyes and hearts subdue. 

Hush the v/orld, that I may wake 
To the taste of pure delights ; 
Oh the pleasures I pai-take — 
God, the partner of my nights ! 

8K 



4 



TRANSLATIONS 

David, for the selfsame cause, 
Night preferr'd to husy day : 
Hearts whom heavenly beauty drawir 
Wish the glaring sun away. 

Sleep, self-lovers, is for you — 
Souls that love celestial know. 
Fairer scenes by night can view 
Than tlie sim could ever show. 



ON THE SAME. 



Sfason of my purest pleasure. 

Sealer of observing eyes ! 
When, in larger, freer measure, 

I can commune with the skies; 
While, beneath thy shade extended, 

Weary man forgets his woes ; 
I, my daily trouble ended. 

Find, in watching, my repose. 

Silence all around prevailing. 

Nature hush'd in slumber sweec. 
No rude noise mine ears assailing. 

Now my God and I can meet : 
Universal nature slumbers. 

And my soul partakes the calm. 
Breathes her ardour out in numbers, 

Plaintive song or lofty psalm. 

Now my passion, pure and holy. 

Shines and bums without restrainft| 
Which the day's fatigue and folly 

Cause to languish, dim and fauit: 
Charming hours of relaxation! 

How I dread the ascending sun f 
Surely, idle conversation 

Is an evil, raatch'd by none. 



60fi 



FROM GUION. gg 

Worldly prate and babble hurt me ; 

Unintelligible prove ; 
Neither teach me nor divert me ; 

I have ears for none but love. 
Me they rude esteem, and foolish. 

Hearing my absurd replies ; 
I have neither art's fine polish, 

Nor the knowledge of the wise. 

Simple souls, and unpolluted, 

By conversing with the gi"eat, 
Have a mind and taste, ill suited 

To their dignity and state ; 
All their talking, reading-, writingj 

Are but talents misapplied; 
Infants' prattle I delight in, 

Nothing human choose beside. 

'Tis the secret fear of sinning 

Checks my tongue, or I should say. 
When I see the night beginning, 

I am glad of parting day : 
Love this gentle admonition 

Whispers soft within my breast; 
•Choice befits not thy condition. 

Acquiescence suits thee best.' 

Henceforth, the repose and pleasure 

Night affords me I resign ; 
And thy will shall be the measuj-e. 

Wisdom infinite ! of mine : 
Wishing is but inclination 

Quarreling with thy decrees; 
Wayward nature finds the occasion-— 

'Tis hei' folly and disease. 

Night, with its sublime enjoyments 

Now no longer will I choose ; 
Nor the day, with its employments. 

Irksome as they seem, refuse ; 
Lessons of a God's inspiring 

Neither time nor place impedes; 
From our wishing and desiring 

Our unhappiness proceeds. 



90 TRANSLATIONS 



ON TYlh SAME. 

NtGHTl how I love thy csilent shades. 

My spirits they compose ; 
The bliss of heivveu my soul perradesj 

In spite of all my woes. 

While sleep instils her poppy dews 

In every shmibering- eye, 
I watch, to meditate and muse. 

In blest tranquillity. 

And when I feel a God immense 

Familiarly impart, 
With every proof he can dispense. 

His favour to my heart ; 

My native meanness I lament, 
Tliough most divinely till'd 

With all the ineffable content 
That Deity ran yield. 

His purpose and his course he keeps ; 

Treads all my reasonings down ; 
Commands me out of nature's deeps, 

And hides me in his own. 

When in the dust, its proper place. 
Our pride of heart we lay; 

*Tis then a deluge of his grace 
Bears all our sins away. 

Thou whom I seiT^e, and whose I am. 
Whose influence from on high 

Refines, and still refine.s my flame. 
And makes my fetters fly. — 

How wretched is the creature's state 
Who thwarts thy gracious power; 

Crush'd under sin's enormous weightj 
Increasing- every hour! 



FROM GUI ON. 91 

The night, when pass'd entire with tUec. 

How himiuous and clear ! 
Then sleep has no delights for me. 

Lest thou shouldst disappear. 

My Saviour ! occupy me still 

In this secure recess ; 
Let reason slumber if she will, 

My joy shall not be less : 

Let reason slumber out the night • 

But if thou deign to make 
My soul the abode of truth and light. 

Ah, keep my heart awake 1 



THE JOY OF THE CROSS. 

Long plunged in sorrow, I resign 
My soul to that dear hand of thine, 

Without reserve or fear ; 
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyei ; 
Or into smiles of glad surprise 

Transform the falling tear. 

My sole possession is thy love; 

In earth beneath, or heaven above, 

I have no other store ; 
And though with fervent suit I pray, 
And importune thee night and day, 

I ask thee nothing more. 

My rapid hours pursue the course 
Prescribed them by love's sweetest forcfe. 

And I thy sovereig-n v/ill. 
Without a v/ish to escape my doom ; 
Though still a sufferer fi-om the womb. 

And doom'd to suffer still. 



92 TRANSLATIONS 

By thy command, where er I stray. 
Sorrow attends me all my way, 

A iiever-f ailing' friend ; 
And if my sufferings may augment 
Thy praise, behold me well content — 

Let sorrow still attend 1 

It costs me no regret, that she, 

Who follow'd Chi-ist, should follow me 

And though, where'er she goes, 
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet, 
I love her, and extract a sweet 

From all my bitter v%oes. 

Adieu ! ye vain delights of earth ; 
Insipid spoits, and childish mirth, 

I taste no sweets in you ; 
Unknown delights are in the cross 
All joy beside to me is dross ; 

And Jesus thought so too. 

The cross! Oh ravishment and bliss- 
How gTateful e'en its anguish is" 

Its bitterness how sweet I 
There every sense, and all the miudj 
In all her faculties rrfmed, 

Tastes happiness complete. 

Souls once enabled to disdain 
Base sublunary joys, maintain 

Their dignity secure ; 
The fever of desire is pass'd, 
And love has all its genuine taste, 

Is delicate and pure. 

Self-love no gi-ace in soitow sees. 
Consults her own peouliai' ease : 

'Tis all the bliss she knows : 
But nobler aims true love employ j 
In self-denial is her joy 

In suffering her rej-osc 

610 



FH(JM GUtON. .J3 

Sorrow and love go side by side ; 
Nor height nor depth can e'er divide 

Their heaven-appointed bands ; 
Those dear associates still are one, 
Nor till the race of life is nin 

Disjoin their wedded hands 

Jesus, avenger of our fall, 
Thou faithful lover, above all 

The cross has ever borne ! 
Oh tell me, — life is in thy voice — 
How much afflictions were thy choice, 

And sloth and ease thy scorn ! 

Thy choice and mine shall be the same 
Inspirer of that holy flame. 

Which must for ever blaze ! 
To take the cross and follow thee. 
Where love and duty lead, shall be 

My portion and my praise. 



JOY IN MARTYRDOM. 

Sweet tenants of this grove! 

Who sing without design, 
A song of artlfSd love. 

In unison v/itli mine : 
These echoing sliades return 

Full many a note of ours, 
That wise ones cannot learn. 

With all fheir boasted powers 

^ Thou! whose sacred charms 

These hearts so seldom love, 
Jthough thy beauty warms 

And blesses all above ; 
How slow are human things. 

To choose their happiest lot I 
4ll-glorious King of kings. 

Say why we love thee not? 



TRANSLATIONS 

ITiis heart, that cannot rest. 

Shall thine tor ever prove , 
Though bleeding- and distress'd, 

; ci joyful in thy love : 
*Tis happy, though it breaks 

Eeneath thy chastening hand j 
And speechless, yet it speaks 

What thou canst understand. 



SIMPLE TRUST. 

Still, still, without ceasing, 

I feel it increasing, 
This fervour of holy desire ; 

And often exclaim, 

Let me die in the flame 
Of a love that can never expire ! 

Had I words to explain 

What she must sustain 
Who dies to the world and its xraya; 

How joy and affright, 

Disti'ess and delight. 
Alternately chequer her days. 

Thou, sweetly severe ! 

I v/ould make thee appear, 
In all thou art pleased to award, 

?^ot more in the sweet, 

Tl»an the bitter I meet, 
My tender and merciful Lord. 

lliis faith, in the dark 

Pursuing its mark, 
Tlmmgh many shai-p trials of lova j 

Is the siirrowful waste 

Tliat is to be pass'd 
In the way to the Canaan above. 



Sl& 



FROM GUTON. 



THE NECESSITY OF SELP-i^R ISEMENT. 

SocRCE of love, my brighter tan, 
Thou aloiie my comfort art ; 
See, my race 13 almost r\in ; 
Hast thou left this trembling- heart? 

In my youth thy charming eyes 
DrcAV me from the ways of men ; 
Then 1 drank unmingled joys ; 
Frown of thine saw never then. 

Spouse of Christ was then my name ; 
And devoted all to thee. 
Strangely jealous, I became 
Jealous of this self in me. 

Thee to love, and none beside. 
Was my darling, sole employ ; 
While alternately I died. 
Now of grief, and now of joy. 

Through the dark and silent night 
On thy radiant smiles I dwelt ; 
And to see the dawning light 
Was the keenest pain I felt. 

Thou my gracious teacher wert ; 
A)id thine eye, ^o close applied. 
While it watch'd thy pupil's heart, 
Seem'd to look at none beside. 

Conscious of no evil drift. 

This, I cried, is love indeed — 

'Tis the giver, not the gift, ^ 

Whence the joys I feel proceed 

But soon humbled, and laid low, 
Stript of all thou hast confeiT'd, 
Nothing left but sin and woe, 
I perceived how I had err'd. 



TRANSLATIONS 

Oh, the vain conceit of mau. 
Dreaming of a good his own, 
Arrogating all he can, 
Though the Lord is good alone ' 

He the graces thou hast wrough 
Makes subsei-vient in his pride ; 
Ignorant, that one such thought 
Passes all his sin beside. 

Such his folly— proved, at last. 
By the loss of that repose 
Self-complacence cannot tasttj 
Only love divine bestows. 

'Tis by this reproof severe, 
And by this reproi f alone, 
His defects at last appear, 
Man is to hiiuself made known. 

Learn, all earth 1 that feeble man. 
Sprung from this terrestrial clod. 
Nothing is, and nothing can ; 
Life and power are all in God. 



LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING. 

* I LOVE the Lord,' is still the strain 

This heart delights to sing ; 
But I reply — your thoughts are vain. 

Perhaps 'tis no such thing. 

Before the power of love divine 

Creation fades away ; 
Till only God is seen to shine 

In all that we survey. 

In gulfs of awful night we find 

The God of our desires ; 
'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind. 
And doubles all its fires. 

dl4 



FROM GUION. 

Flames of encircling- love iurest. 
And pierce it sweetly through ; 

'Tis find with sacred joy, yet press 'd 
With sacred sorrow too. 

Ah love ! my heart is in the right — 

Amidst a thousand woes. 
To thee, its ever new delifcht, 

And ail its peace it owes. 

Fresh causes of distress occur 

Where'er I look or move ; 
The comforts I to all prefer 

Are solitude and love. 

Nor exile I nor prison fear ; 

Love makes my courage great ; 
I find a Saviour every where, 

His grace in every state. 

Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep, 
Exclude his quickening beams ; 

There I can sit, and sing, and weep. 
And dwell on heavenly themes. 

There sorrow, for his sake, is found 

A joy beyond compare ; 
There no presumptuous thoughts aboimd. 

No pride can enter there. 

A Saviour doubles all my joys. 

And sweetens all my pains, 
His strength in my defence employs. 

Consoles me and sustains. 

I fear no ill, resent no wrong ; 

Nor feel a passion move. 
When malice whets her slanderous tongi 

Such patience is in love. 



^ 



TRANSLATIONS 



SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION. 

Wilds horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees, 

Ri<cks that ivy and briars infol 1, 
Scenes nature with dread and astonishment sees. 

But I with a pleasure untold. 

Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude, 
^ wni charm'd with the peace ye afford, 

Your shades are a temple where none will intrude, 
The abode of ny lover and Lord. 

I am sick of fny splendour, O fountain of day. 

And here I am hid from its beams, 
Here safely contemplate a brighter display 

Of the noblest and holiest of themes. 

Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose. 

Where stillness and solitude reign, 
To you I securely and boldly disclose 

The dear ang-uish of which I complain. 

lievp sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot 
By the worlu and its turbulent throng. 

The birds and the streams lend me many a note 
That aids meditation and song. 

Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night. 
Love wears me and wastes me away, 

And often the sun has spent much of his light 
Ere yet I perceive it is day. 

While a mantle of darkness envelopes the sphei'S, 

My sorrows are sadly rehearsed. 
To me the dark hours are all equally dear, 

And the last is as sw^et as the first. 

Here I and the beasts of the deserts agree. 

Mankind are the wolves that I fear. 
They grudge me my natural right to be free. 

But nobody questions it here. 



SIC- 



FiiOAi GUION. ge 

Thoiigh little is found in this dieary abode 

That appetite wishes to iind, 
My spiiit is sooth'd by the presence of God, 

And appetite wholly resiyu'd. 

Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led, 

My life I in praises employ, 
.4nd scarce know the source of the tears that I shed 

Proceed they from son-ow or joy. 

There's nothing 1 seem to have skill to discern, 

I feel out my way in the dark, 
lx)ve reigns in my bosom, I constantly bum. 

Yet hardly distingoiisli the spark. 

I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead. 

Such a riddle is not to be found, 
I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed 

I have nothing, and yet I aboimd. 

Oh love ! who in darkness art pleased to abide, 

Though dimly, yet surely I see 
That these contrarieties only reside 

In the soul that is chosen of thee. 

Ah send me not back to the race of mankind. 

Perversely by fully beguiled. 
For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find 

The spirit and heart of a child 1 

Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free ; 

A little one v/hom they despir.e. 
Though lost to the world, if in union with thee> 

Shall be holy and happy and wise. 



TRANSLATIONS 

OF THE 

LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF IVIILTON 



ELEGY I. 

TO CHARLES DEODATI. 

At length, my friend, the far sent letters come. 

Charged with thy kindness, to their destined home; 

They come, at length, from Deva's Western side. 

Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. 

Trust me. my joy is great that thou shouldst be. 

Though born of foreign race, yet bom for me, 

And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, 

MiLst seek again so soon his wonted home. 

I well content, where Thames with influent tide 

My native city laves, meantime reside. 

Nor zeal nor duty now my steps impel 

To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. 

Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, 

That to the musing bard all shade deny. 

'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain, 

And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain. 

If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent 

Beneath my father's roof, be banishment. 

Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse 

A name expressive of the lot I choose. 

I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore, 

Rome s liapless bard had suffer'd nothing more* 

He then had equall'd even Homer's lays, 

And, Virgil 1 thou hadot won but second praise : 

For here I woo the muse, with no control. 

And here my books — my life — absorb me whole. 

Here too I visit, or to smile or weep. 

The winding theatre's majestic sweep ; 



TRANSLATIONS FUUM MILTON. 101 
The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits 
My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits ; 
Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, 
Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there, 
Or some coif d brooder o'er a ten years' cause. 
Thunder the Nonuan gibberish of the laws. 
The lacquey, there, oft dupes the M'ary sire, 
And, artful, speeds the enamour'd son's desire- 
There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove. 
What love is know not, yet, unknowing, love. 
Or, if impassion'd tragedy wield high 
The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly. 
Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, 
1 gaze, and grieve, still cheriyhing my grief. 
At times, e'en bitter tears ^ield sweet relief, 
As, when from bliss untasted torn away, 
Some yoTith dies, hapless, on his bridal day ; 
Or when the ghost, scut back from shades below, 
Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe ; 
When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords 
Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. 
Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, 
I dwell ; but, when spring calls me forth to roam. 
Expatiate in our proud suburban shades 
Of branching elm that never sun pervades. 
Here many a virgin troop I may descry, 
Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. 
Oh forms divine ! Oh looks that might inspire 
E'en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire. 
Oft have I gazed on gem-sui-passing eyes. 
Out-sparkling every star that gilds the skies ; 
Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestow'd 
By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road '. 
Bright locks, love's golden snare ! these falling lowj 
Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow ! 
Cheeks, too, more winning sweet than after-shower 
Adonis tum'd to Flora's favourite flower ! 
Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the embrace 
Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place ! 
Give place, ye turban'd fair of Persia's coast I 
And ye, not less renown'd, Assyria's boast! 



102 TRANSLATIONS 

Submit, ye nymphs of Greece ! ye, once the blooic 

Of Ilion ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, 

Who swept, of old, hei- theatres with traiua 

Redundant, and still Ua'c in classic strains ! 

To British damsels beauty's palm is due ; 

Aliens I to follow them is fame for you. 

Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands. 

Whose towering front the circling realm commands. 

Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see 

In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. 

The virgin multitude that daily meets, 

Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets 

Outnumbers all her train of stari-j' fires 

With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. 

Fame says that, wafted hither by her doves, 

With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, 

Venus, prefeiTing Paphian scenes no more, 

Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. 

But, lest the sightless boy enforce my stay, 

I leave these happy walls while yet I may. 

Immortal Moly shall secure my heart 

From all the sorcery of Circrean art. 

And I will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools 

To face once more the warfare of the schools. 

Meantime accep: this trifle ! rhymes though few , 

Yet such as prove thy friend's remembrance true ! 



ELEGY II. 



DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT 
CAMBRIDGE. 

Thee, whose refulgent staff and summons clear 
Minerva's flock long time was wont to obey. 

Although thyself a herald, famous here, 

The last of heralds, death, has snatch'd away. 

He calls on all alike, nor even deigns 

To spare the oflice that himself sustains. 

fi20 



FROM MILTON. IQ» 

Thy locks were whiter tlian the plumes dispiav d 

By Leda's paramoiir in ancient time ; 
But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay' d 

Or, j^on-like, to know a second prime, 
Wortliy, for whom some goddess should have ^on 
New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. 

Commission'd to converse with hasty call [stand I 
Tlie gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou 

So stood Cyllenius eret in Priam's hall. 

Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command I 

And so Eurybates, when he addrcss'd 

To Peleus' son, Atiides' proud behest. 

Dread queen of sepulchres ! whose rigorous laws 
And watchful eyes run through the realms below. 

Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause 1 
Too often to the muse not less a foel 

Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim 

Pierce usele.s.-s drones, earth's biirthen,and its shame 

Flow, therefore, tears for him from every eye, 

All ye disciples of the muses, weep! 
Assembling all in robes of sable dye. 

Around his bier lament his endless sleep I 
And let complaining Elegy rehearse 
In every school her sweetest, saddest verse. 



ELEGY III. 

ON THE 

DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER 

Silent I sat, dejected, and alone, 

Making, in thought, the public woes my own, 

When first arose the image in my breast 

Of England's suVering by that scourge, the pest I 

How Deatli, his funeral torch and scythe in hand* 

tutering the lordliest mansions of the land, 

3L 

ST. 



104 TRANSLATIONS 

Has laid the gem-illumined palace low. 

Ana levcll'd tribes of nobles at a blow. 

I next deplored the famed paternal pair, 

Too soon to ashes turn'd and empt^- air ! 

The heroes next, v/hom snatch'd into the skies 

All Belgia saw, and foUow'd with her sighs ; 

But thee far most I moum'd, regretted most, 

Winton's chief shepherd, and her woi'thiest boast ! 

I'oiu-'d out in teara I thus complaining- said : 

' Death, next in power to him who rules the deaid I 

Is it not enough that all tlie woodlands j-ield 

To tliy fell force, and every verdant field ; 

That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine. 

And e'en the Cyprian queen's own roses pine ; 

That oaks themselves, althougrh the running rill 

Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will ; 

That all the wincred nations, even those 

Whose heaven-directed flight the future shoKTt, 

And all the beasts that in dark forests stray. 

And all the herds of Protens are thy prey. 

Ah envious ! arin'd with jwwers fo unconfined ! 

Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind 1 

Why lake delight, with darts that never loam, 

To chase a heaven-bom ppirit from her home V 

While thus I mourn'd, tlie star of evening stood. 
Now newly risen above the western flood. 
And Phoebus from his moniing- goal again 
Had reach'd the g-uifs of the Iberian main. 
I wish'd repose, and, on my couch reclined. 
Took early rest, to nipht and sleep resign'd : 
When — Oh for words to paint what I beheld 1 
I seem'd to wander in a spacious field. 
Where all the champaign glov/'d with purple light, 
Like that of sunrise on the mountain height ; 
Flowers over all the field, of every hue 
That ever Iris wore, luxuriant gTew. 
Nor Chloris, with whom amorous zephyrs play. 
E'er dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay. 
A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd 
O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold ; 
With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flowers, 
iVifli airs awaken'd inider rosy bowers. 



FROM MH;r()N. lOS 

Such, poets feig'ii, irradiated all o'er 
The sun's abode on India's utmost ghore. 

While I that siileiidour, and the miuti-led shade 
Of fruitful vines, with wonder lix'd survey'd, 
At once, with looks tliat beam'd celestial grace* 
The seer of Winton stood before my face. 
His snowy vesture's hem descending low 
His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow 
New fallen shone the mitre on his brow. 
Where'er lie trod, a tremulous sweet sound 
Of gladness shook the flowery scene around : 
Attendant angels clap tlieir stari-y wings. 
The tmmpet shakes the sky, all ethor rings ; 
Each chants his welcome, folds him to his breast 
And thus a sweeter voice thun all the rest; 
' Ascend, my son ! thy Father's kingdom share ! 
My son ! henceforth be freed from every care !' 

So spake the voice, and at its tender close 
With psaltery's soimd the angelic band arose : 
Then night retired, and, cb;usoi! !-y diiwuiiig da\ 
The visionary bliss pass'd all away. 
I raoiirn'd my banish'd sle<>p with fond ooncem ; 
Frequent to me may dreams like this retTirn i 



KLEGY IV. 

i niS TUTOR THOMAS YOUN-. 
ch\pla:x\ to the English factory at hamiujrgjs 

Hknce my epistle— skim the deep— fly o'er 
Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore ! 
Haste— lest a friend should grieve for thy delay— 
And the gods grant that nothing th^yart thy way 
I will myself invoke the king wlio binds 
In his Sicanian echoing vault the winds 
With Doris and her nymphs, and all the tlirong 
Mf azure gods, to speed thee safe along. 
F2 

G2;i 



106 iUA-NSLATlONS 

But rather, to iustire tny happier haste 

Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou inayst; 

Or that whence youug: Ti'iptolemus of yore 

Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. 

The sands that line the German coast descried. 

To opulent Hamhurga turn a?ide ! 

So cali'd, if legendary fame be true. 

Prom llama, whom a club-arm d Cimbrian slew' 

There lives, deep learn'd and primitively just, 

A faithful steward of his C'lristian trust, 

i\Jy friend, and favourite inmate of my heart 

Tiiat now is forced to want it5 better part ! 

What mountains now, and seas, alas ! liow wide ; 

From me this other, dearer self divide. 

Dear as the sage renown 'd for moral truth 

To the prime spirit of the Attic youth ! 

Dear as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son, 

Ilis pupil, who disdain'd the world he won ; 

Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine 

In your^r Achilles' eyes, as he in mine. 

First led by him through sweet Aonian shade, 

Each sacred haunt of Pindus 1 survey'd ; 

And favour'd by the muse, whom I implored, 

Thrice on my lip the haUow'd stream I pour'd. 

But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd 

To Aries, has new tinged his fleece with gold. 

And Chloris twdce has dress "d tlie meadows gray, 

And twice has summer parch'd tlieir bloom away, 

Since last delighted on liin looks I hung, 

Or my ear drank the music of his tongiie : 

Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed ; 

Aware thyself that there is urgent need ! 

Hira, entering, thoii shalt haply seated see 

Beside hia spouse, his infants on his knee ; 

Or turning, page by page, with studious look, 

Some bulky father, or God's holy book ; 

Or ministering (which is liis weightiest care) 

To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare. 

Give him, whatever his employment be. 

Such gratulation as he claims from me ! 

And, with a downcast eye, and cai-riage mee^, 

Addressing him, forget not tlius to speat : 



FROM MlLfON 10? 

' if c/)nn)as8'cl round witl: arms thou canst attend 
Ti) v(>rso, verse greets thee froxu a diataut friend. 
Long- duo, and late, I left tlie English shore ; 
But make me welcome for tha* cause the morel 
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer 
The slow epistle came, tliougii late, sincere. 
But wlierefore this ? v/hy palliate I tlie deed 
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ? 
Self-charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper part 
He feels neglected, with an aching heart ; 
But thou forgive — delinquents, wlio confess. 
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less 
Fi-om timid foes the lion turns away. 
Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey. 
E'en pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare. 
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer; 
And Heaven's dread thunderbolt arrested stands 
By a cheap victim and uplifted hands. 
Long had he wish'd to write, but was withheld, 
And writes at last, by love alone compell'd. 
For fame, too often true, when she alarms, 
Reports thy neighbouring fields a scene of anns ; 
Thy city against lierce besiegers ban-'d, 
And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepai-ed. 
Enyo wastes thy country wide around, 
And saturates vnih blood the tainted ground; 
Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more, 
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore ; 
The ever-verdant olive fades and dies. 
And peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies, 
Files from that earth which justice long had left. 
And leaves the world of its last guard bereft.' 

Thus hoi-ror girds thee round. Meantime alone 
Thou dwell'st, and helpless, in a soil unknown ; 
Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand 
The aid denied thee in thy nal ve land. 
Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more 
Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore! 
Leavest thou to foreign care the worthies given 
By providence to giiide thy steps to heaven? 
His ministers, commission'd to proclaim 
Et«rnal blessings iji a Saviour's name ! 

C25 



108 iUANSLAiiONcS 

Ah then most wortliy, with a soul unfed. 
In Stygian night to lie for ever dead ! 
So once the venerable Tislibite stray'd 
An exiled fugitive fr^jn shade to shade. 
When, flying- Ahal> and his fury wife. 
In lone Arabian wilds he shelter'd life ; 
So from Philippa wauder'd forth forlorn 
Cilician Paid, with sounding scourges torn ; 
And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more 
The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore. 

But thou take coui-age! strive against despair i 
Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care! 
Grim war, indeed, on evei-y side appears, 
And thou art menaced by a thousand spears ; 
Yet none shall diink thy blood, or shall oifend 
K'en tlie defenceless bosom of my friend. 
For thee the /Egis of thy God shall hide, 
Jehovah's self shall conibaic on thy side. 
The same who vanquish'd under Sion's towers 
At silent midnight all Assyria's powei's, 
Tbe same who overthrew in ages past 
Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste! 
Their king he fiU'd and them with fatal fears 
By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears, 
Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar. 
Of clashing ai"mour, and the din of war. 

Thou, tliere (as the most afflicted may). 
Still hope, and triumph o'er thy evil day! 
Look forth, expecting happier times to come, 
ilnd to enjoy, once moje, thy native home! 



ELEGY V. 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING- 

Time, never wandering from bis annual round, 
Bida zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the gi-oundj 
Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain. 
And earth assumes her transient youth again. 



FROM MlLTOiS 109 

Dream I, or also to the spriag belong- 

Increase of geniui=, and new powers of sons;- i 

Spring gives them, and, liow strange soe'er it seems, 

Impels me now to some harmonious themes. 

Castulia's fountain, and the forked hill 

By day, by night, my raptured fancy nil; 

My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within 

A sacred sound that prompts me to begin. 

Lo .' Phoebus comes, with hi.i bright hair he blendfl 

The radiant laurel wreath; Phoebus descends! 

I mount, and uudepress'd by cumbrous clay, 

Through cloudy regions win my easy way ; 

Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly : 

The shrines all open to my dauntless eye. 

My spirit searches all the realms of light. 

And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight. 

But this ecstatic trance — this glorious storm 

Of inspiration — what will it perform ? 

Spring claims the verse that with his influence glows, 

Ajid shall be paid Avith what himself bestows. 

Thou, veil'd with opening foliage, lead'st the throng 
Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel ! in song ; 
Let us, in concert, to the season sing, 
Civic and sylvan heralds of the spring ! 

With notes triumphant spring's approach declare J 
To spring, ye muses, annual tribute bear ! 
The orient left, and Ethiopia's plains. 
The sun now northward turns his golden reiiuj ; 
Night creeps not now ; yet r -ies v.'ith gentle s'7'ay, 
And drives her dusky horrors swift avay 
Now less fatigued, on this ethereal plain 
Bootes foUoAVS his celestial wain ; 
And now the radiant continels above, 
Less numerous, watch around the courts of Jove, 
For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly, 
And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. 
Now, haply says some shepherd, while he viewa. 
Recumbent on a rock, the reddening dews, 
This night, this, surely, Phoebus uiiss'd the fair. 
Who stops his chariot by her amorous care. 
Cynthia, delighted by the nionnng's gh/-.v. 
Speeds to the woodland and resume:; he»r bow. 



110 TRANSLATlONfci 

Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear, 

Blesses his aid, who shortens hei* career. 

Come — Phcebus cries — Aurora, come — too late 

Thou lingerest, slumbering, with thy wither'd mate , 

Leave him, and to HjTnettus' top repair! 

Thy darling Cephalus expects thee tliere. 

ITie goddess with a blush her love betrays. 

But mounts, and, driving rapidly, obeys. 

Earth now desires thee, Phoebus ! and, to engag-e 

Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age ; 

Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet 

When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat? 

Her breath imparts to every breeze that blows 

Arabia's han^est and the Paphian rose. 

Her lofty front she diadems around 

With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd ; 

Her dewy locks, with various flowers new blowHj 

She interweaves, various, and all her own ; 

For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired, 

Taenarian Dis himself with love inspired. 

Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse I 

Herself, with all her sighing zephyrs, sues ; 

Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing. 

And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. 

Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires 

The amorous earth to engage thy wai-m desires. 

But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim, 

Divine Physician ! to that glorious name. 

If splendid recompense, if gifts can move 

Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love). 

She offers all the wealth her mountains hide, 

And all that rests beneath the boundless tide. 

How oft, when headlong from the heavenly steep 

She sees thee placing in the western deep. 

How oft she cries — ' Ah Phoebus, why repair 

Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there ? 

Can Tethys win thee 1 wherefore shouldst thou lave 

A face so fair in her unpleasant wave ? 

Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose 

To cool thy tresses in my crystal dews. 

The grassy turf •'hall yield thee sweeter rest ; 

Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast, 

0:iS 



Fll!>M iJ5LTOiN. m 

And breathing- fresh, through many a humid rose, 
S<^ft wliispering airs shall lull thee to repose ! 
No fears I feel like Semele to die, 
Nor let thy burning wheels approach too nigh. 
For thou canst govern thern, here tiierefore rest. 
And lay thy evening' glories on r.iy breast !' 

Thus breathes the wanton Earth her amorous H;e>:t'. 
And all her countless offspring feel tlie same ; 
For Cupid now thi'ough every region strays. 
Brightening- his faded fires with solar rays ; 
His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier so.; • 
And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wouud , 
Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, 
Nor even Vesta at her altar side ; 
His mother too repairs her beauty's wane. 
And seems sprung newly from the deep again. 
Exultiiig youths the hymeneal sing. 
With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring- 
He, new attired, and by the season drest. 
Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest. 
No"\y many a golden-cinctured virgin roves 
To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, 
All wish, and each alike, some favourite youth 
Hers, in the bonds of hymeneal truth. 
Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again. 
Nor Pliillis wants a song that suits the sti-ain ; 
With songs the seaman hails tlie starry sphere. 
And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear : 
Jove feels himself the season, sports again 
With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. 
Now too the satyrs, in the dusk of eve. 
Their mazy dance through tlo-wery meadows weavf 
And neither god nor goat, but both in kind, 
Silvanus, wreath'd with cypress, skips behind. 
The dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells 
To roam the banks and solitai-y dells ; 
Pan riots now ; and from his amorous chafe 
Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe, 
4nd Faunas, all on fire to reach the prize, 
In chase of some enticing oread flies ; 
She bounds before, but fears too swift a bouud, 
.4.nd hidden lies, but wishes to be fouj.d. 

es9 



112 THAN SLAT rON IS 

Our shades entice the immortal., fit.ui above, 
A.nd some kind power presides o'er every grove ; 
And long, ye powers, o'er every grove preside, 
For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide ! 
Return, O Jove ! the age of gold restore — 
Why choose to dwell where stonns and thunder roai t 
At least thou, Phoebus ! moderate thy speed! 
Let not the venial hours too swift proceed. 
Command rough winter back, nor yield the pole 
Too soon to night's encroaching, long control I 



ELEGY VI. 

TO CHARLES DEODATI, 

MTio, while he spent his Chri.^tnias in the country, sent the 
Author a poetical epistle, in wliicli he requested that his verses, 
if not so c^ood as usual, niisrht be excused on account of the 
many fe;ists to wliich his friends invited him, and which would 
not allow hini leisure to finish iheni as he wislied. 

With no rich viands overcharged, I send [friend. 
Health, wliich perchance you want, my pamper'd 
But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away 
Prom what she loves, from darkness into day ? 
Art thou desirous to be told how well 
I love thee, and in verse i verse cannot tell. 
For verse has bounds, and must in measure move ; 
But neither bounds nor measui'e knows my love. 
How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear 
December's hamiless sports, and rural cheer ! 
I Frencli spirits kindling with ca^rulean fires, 

I And all such gambols as the time inspires I 

i 31iiiik not that wine against good verse offends, 

j The muse and Bacchus have been always friends ; 

Nor Phoebus blu.shes sometimes to be found 
With i-^'y, rather tlian viith laurel, crown'd. 
The Nine themselves ofttiincs have join'd the song. 
And revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; 
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air 
Sing sweetly — why ? no vine would flourish there. 

S30 



FROM MIL'JON. US 

What in brief numbers sung Aiiacreon's muse ? 
Wine, and the rose that sparkling- wine bedews. 
Pindar with Bacchus glows — his every line 
Breathes the rich fragrau<--e of inspiiing wine, 
While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot lieS; 
And brown with dust tlie fier^' courser flies. 
The Koman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays 
So sweet in Olycera's and Chloe's. praise. 
Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl 
Nourish the vijjour of thy sprightly seal ; 
The llowing goblet makes thy numbers flow. 
And casks not v^ine alone, but verse bestow. 
Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend. 
Whom Bacchus and whom Ceres botli befriend. 
What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet 
In which these tz-iple powers so kindly meet ! 
The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought. 
And, touch'd with flying fingers nicely taught. 
In tapestried halls, high roof'd, the sprightly lyr* 
Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. 
If dull repletion fright the muse away, 
Sights gay as these may more invite her stay ; 
And, trust me, while the ivory keys resound. 
Fair damsels npoit , and perfumes steam around, 
Apollo's infl leiioe, like ethereal flame. 
Shall animate, at j)ice thy glowing frame. 
And all the nune ^<hall rush into thy breast. 
By love and mu.-'ic s blended powers possest. 
For numerous powers light elegy befriend, 
Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend; 
Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, 
And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love. 
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use 
Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice. 
But they v/ho demigods and heroes praise. 
And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days. 
Who now the counsels of high heaven explore, 
Now shades that echo the Cerberean roar, 
Simply let these, like him of Samos, live. 
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give ; 
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine. 
Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine 1 

E31 



14 fRANSLA;[,!Na 

Their youth iShoiJd pass in iiiiioc;nit:e secure 

From stain licentious, and in manners pure. 

Pure as the priest, when robed in white he stands. 

The fresh lustration leady in his hands. 

Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write, 

Tiresias, wiser for his loss of tsi-iht ; 

Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the Bard of Thrace, 

Melodious Tamar of the savage race ; 

Thus train'd by temperance, Homer led, of yore. 

His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore. 

Through raagic Circe's monster-peopled rei^. 

And shoals insidious with the syren train ; 

And through tlie realms where gTizzly spectres dwell 

Whose ti'ibes he fetter'd in a gory spell ; 

For these are sacred bards, and from above 

Drink larg-e infusions from the mind of Jove. 

Wouldst thou (peihaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear) 
Wouldst thou be told ray occupation here 1 
The promised King- of peace employs my pea, 
The eternal covenant made for guilty men. 
The new-born Deity with infant cries 
Filling!,- the sordid hovel where he lies; 
The hymning an els, and the herald star, 
That led the wise, who sought him from afar. 
And idols on their own unliallow'd shore 
Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more. 

Tills theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse : 
The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse , 
Verse that, reserved in secret, shall attend 
Thy vandid voice, my critic, and my ft-iendl 



ELEGY VII. 



As yet a stranger to the gentle fires 

That Amathusia's smiling cpieen inspires. 

Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts. 

And scorn d his claim to mle all human hearts 

' Go, child,' I said, « transfix the timorous dove I 

Vn easy conquest suits an infant l^ve ; 



FROM MILTON. US 

Enslave the sparrow, for sucli prize shall be 
Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! 
Why aim thy idle arms at human kind? 
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.' 

The Cyprian heard, and, kindling- into ire, 
'None kindles sooner) burn'd with double lire. 

It was the spring-, and ne-wly-risen day 
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May ; 
My eyes, too tender for the blaze of light. 
Still sought the shelter of I'etiring- night, 
When love approach 'd, in painted plumes aiTay'd, 
llie in.sidious god hi.=i rattling- darts betray'd, 
Nor less his infant featiu'es, and the sly, 
Sweet intimations of his threatening eye. 

Such the Sigeian boy is seen above 
Filling the goblet for imperial Jove ; 
Such he, on whom tlie n ymplis bestow'd their charma 
Hylas, who perish'd in a naiad's arms. 
Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, 
And added threats not destitute of fire. 
' My power,' he said, ' by others' pain alone, 
'Twere best to learn ; now learn it by thy own ! 
With those that feel my power, that power attest! 
And in thy angniish be my sway confest! 
I vanquish 'd Photbxis, though returning vain j 

From his new ti-iumph o'er tlie Python slain, 
And, when he thinks en D;iphne, even he 
Will yield the prize of archery to me. 
A dart less true the Pai-thian horseman sped, 
Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he tied: 
Le.ss true the exyiert Cydonian, and less true 
The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew. 
Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend, 
By me Alcides, and jVlcides' friend. 
At me should Jove himself a bolt desig-n, 
His besom first should bleed transfix'd by mine. 
But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain. 
Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain. 
Thy muse, vain youth! shall not t'ny peace ensure, 
Nor Phoebus' seri>ent yield thy wound a cure.' 

He spoke, and, waving a bright sliaft in air, 
Sought the warm bosom of tJie Cypriai; fair. 



fit TRANSLATIONS 

Tnat tnus a child slioitld bluster in my ear, 
Provoked my laughter more than moved my fear. 
I ahunn'd not, therefore, public haunts, but stray'd 
Careless in city or suburban shade, 
And, passing and repassing nymphs that moved 
With grace divine, beheld where'er I roved. 
Bright shone the vernal day with double blaze 
As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays. 
By no grave scniples ciieck'd, I freely eyed 
The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide, 
.\nd many a look of many a fair luiknovv-n 
Met fsill, unable to control my own. 
But one I mark'd (then peace forsook mv breast). 
One — Oh how far superior to the rest! 
What lovely features! such the Cyprian queen 
Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien. 
The vei'7V n^mph was she, whom, when 1 dared 
His aiTOws, Love had even then prepared ! 
Nor v/as himself remote, nor luisupplied 
With torch well triinm'd and quiver at his side ; 
Now to her lips he clung, her eyelids now, 
Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow; 
And with a tho,isand wounds from every part 
Pierced and transpierced my undefended heart. 
A fever, xiew to me, of fierce desire 
Now sei/.ed my aoul, and I was all on fire , 
But she, the while, whom only I adore. 
Was gone, and vanishd, to appear no more. 
In silent sadness I pursue my way ; 
I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to st.ay, 
And, while I follow her in thought, bemoan 
With tears my soul's delight so quickly flown. 
When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast. 
So Vulcan son-ow'd for Olympus lost, 
And so (Eclides, sinking into night. 
From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light. 

Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain, 
Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain? 
Oh could I once, once more behold the fair, 
Speak to her, tell her of the pangs I bear ; 
Perhaps she is not adamant; would show, 
Perhaps, some pity at my tale of wne. 



FROM :,!iLTw.\ nf 

Oh inauspicious flame — 'tis niiiie ir, prove 
A matchless instance of disastrous love. 
Ah, spare me, gentle power!— If such thou be. 
Let not thy deeds and nature disagTee. 
Spare me, and I will worship at no shiine 
With vow and sacrifice save only thine. 
Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts : 
Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts 
Remove ! no — grant me still this raging- wee ! 

Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know : 
But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see 

One destined mine) at once both her and me. 
Such were the trophies that, in earlier days 

By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise ; 

Studious, yet indolent, and urged by youth. 

That worst of teachers I from the ways of truth ; 

Till learning taught me in his shady bower 

To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his power. 

Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame supprest, 

A frost continual settled on my breast. 

Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see. 

And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. 



p:pigrams. 



ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. 

Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won, 
Who stole ethereal radiance from the sun ; 
But greater he, whose bold invention strove 
To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. 

[The Poems on the suhject ot the Gunpowder Treason I have 
not translated, botli because tht, matter of them is unpleasant, and 
becait.se they are wriuei' with an aspiiitv, which, liowever it 
niiylit be wnrrantcrt in ^.tilton's .!iy, wo'ild be exti'enielv utisf-i 

<^r.ahle n.nv. 1 

535 



!18 [RA-NSLAi; 



TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME.* 

A.NOTHEK Leonora once inspired 

Tasso, with fatal love to phrensy fired ; 

But how much happier, lived he now, were he, 

Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee ! 

Since co\ild he hear that heavenly voice of thine, 

With Adriana's lute of sound divine, 

Fiercer than Pentheus' thouj^h his eye might roll, 

Or idiot apathy benumb liis soul, 

Vou still, with nifidicinal sounds might cheer 

His senses wandering in a blind career ; 

And, sweetly breathing- through his wounded breast, 

Charm, with sovil-soothing song, his thoughts to rest. 



TO THE SAME. 



Naples, too creoiilous, ah ! boast no more 
The sweet-voiced syren buried on tliy shore, 
That, when Parthenope deceased, she gave 
Her sacred diist to a Chalcidic grave. 
For stiil she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse 
Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course, 
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains 
Of magic song both gods and men detains. 



THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. 

A FABLF 

A PEASANT to his lord paid yearly court. 
Presenting pippins ot so rich a sort 

* I have translated only two of tlie three poetical compliment* 
rldressfd to Leonora, as tliey appear to me far superior to wliaf 
linvc omitted. 



FROM MILTON. 119 

That he, displeased to have a part alone, 
Hemoved the tree, that all might he his own. 
The tree, too old to travel, though before 
So fruitfiil, wither'd, and would yield no more. 
The squire, perceiving- all his labom- void, 
Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employ'd, 
And, ♦ Oh,' he cried, ' that I had lived content 
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant ! 
My avarice has expensive proved to me. 
Has cost me both my pippins and my tree.' 



VO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WliH 
CROMWELL'S PICTURE. 

Christina, maiden of heroic mien ! 
Star of the North 1 of northern stars the queen ! 
Behold what wi-inkles I have earu'd, and how 
The iron casque still chafes my veteran brow. 
While following- Fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil 
The dictates of a hardy people's will. 
But soften'd in thy sight my looks appear. 
Not to all queens or kings alike severe. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, 

A PHYSICIAN. 

Learn, ye nations of the earth, 
The condition of your birth. 
Now be taught your feeble state ! 
Know, that all must yield to fate ! 
If the mournful rover. Death, 
Say but once — ' Resign your breath I' 
Vainly of escape you dream. 
You must pass the Stygian stream 
Could the stoutest overcome 
Death's assault, and baffle doom. 
Hercules had both withstood, 
Undiseased by Nessus' blood. 



120 TRANSLATIONS 

Ne'er bad Hector press'd the plain 
By a trick of Pallas slain. 
Nor tiie chief to Jove allied 
By Achilles' phantom died. 

Could enchantments life prolong, 
Circe, saved by magic song', 
Still had lived, and equal skill 
Had preserved Medea still. 

Dwelt in herbs and drugs a power 
To avert man's destined hour, 
Learn'd Machaon should have known 
Doubtless to avert his own. 

Chiron had survived the smart 
Of the hydra-tainted dart, 
And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, 
Foil'd by Asclepiades. 

Thou too, sage ! of whom forlorn 
Helicon and Cirrha mourn. 
Still hadst fiU'd tliy princely place 
Regent of the gowned race : 

Hadst advanced to higher fame 
Still thy much-ennobled name. 
Nor in Charon's skiff explored 
The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. 

But resentful Proserpine, 
Jealous of thy skill divine. 
Snapping short thy vital thread. 
Thee too number'd with the dead. 

Wise and good ! untroubled be 
The green turf that covers thee I 
Thence, in gay profusion, grow 
All the sweetest flowers that blow 

Pluto's consort bid thee rest ! 
iEacus pronounce thee blest ! 
To her home thy shade consign 
Make Elysium ever thine 1 



PROM MILTON. 121 



ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY. 

My lids with ^ef were tumid yet, 

And still my sullied check was wet 

With briny dews, profusely shed 

For venerable Winton dead ; 

When fame, whose tales of saddest sound, 

Alas ! are ever truest found. 

The news through all our cities spread 

Of yet another mitred head 

By ruthless fate to death consign'd, 

Ely, the honour of his kind I 

At once a stonn of passion heaved 
My boiling- bosom, much I grieved ; 
But more I raged, at every breath 
Devoting Death himself to death. 
With less revenge did Naso teem 
When hated Ibis was his theme ; 
With less Archilochus denied 
The lovely Greek his promised bride. 

But lo ! while thus I execrate 
Incensed the minister of fate. 
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear, 
Wafted on the gale I liear. 

' Ah, much deluded ! lay aside 
Thy threats, and anger misapplied I 
Art not afraid with sounds like these 
To offend, where thou canst not appease"? 
Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus?) 
The son of night and Erebus : 
Nor was of fell Erynnis bom 
On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn. 
But sent from God, his presence leaves. 
To gather home his ripen'd sheaves. 
To call encumber'd souls away 
From fleshly bonds to boundless day, 
(As when the winged hours excite. 
And summon forth the morning light) 
And each to convoy to her place 
Before the Eternal Father's face. 
G 



U^ TRANSLATIONS 

But not the wicked — them, severe 
Yet jxist, from all their pleasures here 
He hurries to the realms below. 
Terrific realms of penal woe .' 
Myself no sooner heard his call , 
Than, 'scaping through my prison Wcdl, 
I hade adieu to bolts and bars, 
And soar'd, with angels, to the stars, 
Like him of old, to whom 'twas given 
To mount on fiery wlieels to heaven. 
Boote's waggon, slow with cold, 
Appall'd me not ; nor to behold 
The sword that vast Orion draws, 
Or e'en the scoi-pion's horrid claws. 
Beyond the sun's bright orb I rty. 
And far beneath ray feet descry 
Night's dread goddess, seen with awe. 
Whom her winged dragons draw. 
Thus, ever wondering at my speed, 
Augiuented still as I proceed, 
I pass the planetary sphere. 
The milky way — and now appear 
Heaven's crystal battlements, her door 
Of massy pearl, and emerald floor. 
But here I cease. For never can 
The tongue of once a mortal man 
In suitable description trace 
The pleasures of that happy place ; 
Suffice it, that those joys divine 
Are all, and all for ever mine I' 



NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME. 

Ah, how the human mind wearies herself 

With her own wanderings, and, involved in i^loot; 

Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! 

Measuring in her folly things divine 

By human; laws inscribed on adamant 

MO 



FROM MILTON. 123 

By laws of man's device, and counsels fix'd 
For ever, by the hours that pass and die. 

How ? — shaU the face of natiire then he plough'd 
Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last 
On the great parent fix a sterile curse ? 
Shall even she confess old ag-e, and halt, 
And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows? 
Shall foul antiquity with rust, and drouLvht, 
And famine, vex the radiant woi-lds above ? 
Shall time's unsated maw crave and ingiilf 
The very heavens, that regnlate his fligJit ? 
And was the sire of all able to fence 
His works, and to uphold the circling worlds, 
But, through improvident and heedless haste 
Let slip the occasion 1 — so then — all is lost — 
And in some future evil hour, yon arch 
Shall crumble, and come thundering down, the polee 
Jar in collision, the Olympian king 
Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth 
The terrors of the Gorgon shield in vain, 
Shall nish to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd 
Down into Lemnos, through the gate of heaven. 
Thou also, with precipitated wheels, 
Phoebus! thy own son's fall shall imitate, 
With hideous iiiin shalt impress the deep 
Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss, 
At the extinction of the lamp of day. 
Then too shall Ha?mus, cloven to his base. 
Be shatter'd, and the huge Cerauniaii hills. 
Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immersed 
In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 

No. The Almighty Father surer laid 
His deep foundations, and, providing well 
Fur the event of all, the scales of fate 
Suspended in just equipoise, and bade 
His universal works, from age to age. 
One tenour hold, perpetual, imdisturb'd. 

Hence the prime mover wheels itself about 
Continual, day by day, and with it bears 
In social measure swift the heavens around. 
Not tardier now is Saturn than of old, 
Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. 

541 



124 TRANSLATIONS 

Phcebua, bis Tig^our unimpair'd, still shows 

The effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god 

A downward course, that he may warm the vales; 

But, ever rich in influence, runs his road, 

Sign after sign, through all the heavenly zone 

Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star 

From odoriferous Ind, whose office is 

To gather home betimes the ethereal flock. 

To pour them o'er the skies again at eve. 

And to discriminate the night and day. 

Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes and wan 

Alternate, and ^\^th arms extended still 

She welcomes to her hreast her brother's beams. 

Nor have the elements deserted yet 

Their functions ; thunder -vvith as loud a stroke 

As erst smites through the rocks and scatters them. 

The east still howls ; still the relentless north 

Invades the shuddering Scythian, still he breathes 

The winter, and still rolls the storms along. 

The king of ocean, with his wonted force, 

Beats on Pelorus ; o'er the deep is heard 

'jiTie hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell ; 

Nor swim the monsters of the Mgean sea 

In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves. 

Thou too, thy ancient vegetative power 

Enjoy'st, O earth ! Narcissus still is sweet 

And Phoebus ! still thy favourite, and still 

Thy favourite Cytherea! both retain 

Their beauty ; nor the mountains, ore-eurich'd 

For punishment of man, with purer gold 

Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the deep. 

Thus in unbroken series all proceeds ; 
And shall, till wide involving either pole, 
And the immensity of yonder heaven. 
The final flames of destiny absorb 
The world, consumed in one enormous pyr^ 



FROM iVJlLTON. 125 

ON THE PLATONIC IDEA, 

AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE. 

Ye sister powers, who o'er tlie sacred ^oves 
Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all, 
Mnemosyne ! and thou who, in thy grot 
Immense, reclined at leisure, hast in charge 
The archives and the ordinances of Jove, 
And dost record the festivals of heaven, 
Eternity ! — inform us who is He, 
That great original by nature chosen 
To be the archetype of himian kind, 
Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles 
Themselves coeval, one, yet every where 
An image of the God who gave him being ? 
Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, 
He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though 
Of common nature with ourselves, exists 
Apart, and occupies a local home. 
Whether, companion of the stars, he spend 

Eternal ages, roaming at his will 

From sphere to sphere the tenfold heavens, or dwell 

On the moon's side that nearest neighbours earth. 

Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit. 

Among the multitude of souls ordain'd 

To Hesh and blood ; or whether (as may chance) 

That vast and giant model of our kind 

In some far distant region of this globe 

Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high 

O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest 

The stars, terrific even to the gods. 

Never the Theban seer, whose blindness proved 

His best illumination, him beheld 

In secret vision ; never him the son 

Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night 

Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd ; 

Him never knew the Assyrian priest, who yet 

The ancesti-y of Ninus' chronicles, 

And Belus, and Osiris, far renown'd , 

Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skiU'* 



126 TRANSLATIONS 

So deep in mystery, to the vorshippers 
Of Isis show'd a pi-odigy like him. 

And tliou, wlio hast immortalized the shadei 
Of Academus, if the schools received 
This niojister of the fancy first from thee 
Either recall at once the hanish'd hards 
To thy repuhlio, or thyself, evinced 
A wilder fahnlist, go also forth. 



TO HIS FATHER. 

Oh that Pieria's spring -would throug-h my breast 

Pour its inspiring influence, and rush 

No rill, but rather an o'eiilowing- flood 

That, for my venerable father's sake 

All meaner themes renoiuiced, my muse, on winga 

Of duty borne, mij;ht reach a loftier strain. 

For thee, my father! howsoe'er it please, 

She frames this slender work ; nor know I aught 

That may thy gifts more suitably requite ; 

Though to requite them suitably would ask 

Returns much nobler, and surpassing far 

The meagi-e stores of verbal gratitude : 

But, such as I possess, I send thee all. 

Tills page presents thee in their full amount 

With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought ; 

Nought, save the riches that from airy dream 

In secret grottos and in laurel bowers, 

I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquired. 

Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou 
Verse tlierefore, which evinces (nothing more_) 
Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still 
Some scintillations of Promethean fire, 
Bespeaks him animated from above. 
The gods love verse ; the infernal powers themselvt* 
Confess the influence of verse, which stirs 
Tlie lowest deep, and binds in ti'iple chains 
Of adamant both Pluto and the shades. 

544 



FROM MILTON. 127 

In Terse the Delphic priestess and the pale 
rremiilous syhil make the future known ; 
A.nd he who sacrifices, on the shrine [bull 

Hangs verse, both when he smites the threatening 
And when he spreads his reeking entra-ils wide 
To scrutinize the fates enveloped there. 
We too, ourselve«, wliat time we seek again 
Our native skies, and one eternal now 
Shall be the only measure of our being, 
Crown'd all with gold, and chanting to the l>Tt 
Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above, 
And make the starry firmament resound. 
And, even now, the fiery spirit pure 
That wheels yon circling orbs, directs himself 
Their mazy dance with melody of verse 
Unutterable, immortal, hearing which 
Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress'd ; 
Orion, soften'd, drops his ardent Idade, 
And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. 
Verse graced of old the feasts of kings, ere yet 
Luxurious dainties, destined to the iiulf 
Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere 
LytEus deluged yet the temperate board. 
Then sat the bard a customary guest 
To share the banquet, and, bis length of locks 
With beechen honours bound, proposed in verse 
The characters of heroes and their deeds. 
To imitation, sang of chaos old. 
Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search 
Of acorns fallen, and of the tiiunderbolt 
Not yet produced from Etna's fiery cave. 
And what avails, at last, tune without voire, 
Devoid of matter ? Such may suit perhaps 
The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song 
Of Orpheus, whoia the streams stood still to hear 
And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone 
Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more 
To s>-mpathetic tears the ghosts themselves 
He moved ; these praises to his verse he owes. 
Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight 
The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain 
And useless powers, by whom inspii-ed, thyself 



128 TRANSLATIONS 

Art skilful to associate verse Nvith airs 

Harmonious, and to give the human voice 

A thousand modulations, heir by right 

Indisputable of Arion's fame. 

Now say, what wonder is it, if a son 

Of thine delight in verse, if, so conjoin'd 

In close affinity, we sjanpathize 

In social arts and kindred studies sweet 1 

Such distiibutiou of himself to us 

Was Phoebus' choice ; thou hast thy gift, and I 

Mine also, and between us we receive, 

Father and son, the whole inspiring god. 

No ! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume 
Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle muse. 
My father ! for thou never badest me tread 
ITie beaten path, and broad, that leads right on 
To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son 
To the insipid clamours of the bar, 
To laws voluminous, and ill observed ; 
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 
My mind with ti-easure, ledst me far away 
From city din to deep retreats, to banks 
And streams Aonian, and, with free consent 
Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. 
I speak not now, on more important themes 
Intent, of common benefits, and such 
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts. 
My father ! who, when I had open'd once 
The stores of Roman rhetorick, and learn'd 
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, 
Whose lofty music gTaced the lips of Jove, 
Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers 
That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smo<i 
Italian his degenerate speech adorns, 
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; 
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine. 
To sura the whole, whate'er the heaven contains. 
The earth beneath it, and the air between, 
The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
Prove intellectual gain to me, nay wish 
Concurring with thy will ; science herself, 
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head, 

645 



FROM MILTON. 120 

And offers me tlie lip, if, dvill of heart, 

I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 

Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds 
That covet it ; what could my father more ? 
What more could Jove himaelf, unless he gave 
His own abode, the heaven, in which he reigns t 
More eligible gifts than these were not 
Apollo's to his son, had they been safe 
As they were insecure, who made the boy 
The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule 
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath- 
I therefore, although last and least, my place 
Ajnong the learned in the laurel grove 
Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twinea, 
Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng 
Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 
Away then, sleepless care, complaint, away. 
And envy, with thy 'jealous leer malign I' 
Nor let the monster calumny shoot forth 
Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes ! 
Ye all are impotent against my peace, 
For I am privileged, and bear my breast 
Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. 

But thou, my father ! since to render thanks 
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
Thy liberality, exceeds my power. 
Suffice it, that I tlius record thy gifts, 
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind I 
Ye, too, the favourite pastime of my youth. 
My voliuitary numbers, if ye dare 
To hope longevity, and to survive 
Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd 
In the oblivious Lethsean gulf, 
Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
This theme, and by tkese praises of my gire 
Improve the fathers of a distant age ! 



S4r 



130 TRANSLATIONS 

TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, MUCH 
INDISPOSED. 

The original is written in a measure called Scazon, whicli sig 
nifies limpinp, and the me;isure is so denominated, because, 
though in other respects la.i bic, it ternaiuites with a Spondee, 
and has, consequently, a more tardy movement. 

The reader will immediately see that this property of the LatiB 
verse cannot be imitated in English. 

My halting muse, that drasjti'st by choice along 

Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song, 

And likest that pace, expressive of thy cares. 

Not less tljan Diopeia's sprightlier airs, 

When in the dance she beats with measured tread 

Heaven's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed; 

Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine 

Prefers, with partial love, sucli lays as mine. 

Tlius writes that Milton, then, who, wafted o'er 

From his own nest on Albion's stormy shore. 

Where Eurus, fiercest of the ^Eolian band, 

Sweeps with ungovern'd rage the blasted land. 

Of late to more serene Ausonia came 

To view her cities of illustrious name. 

To prove, himself a witness of the truth. 

Hew wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth. 

Much good, Salsillus ! and a body free 

From all disease, that Milton asks for thee, 

Who now endurest the lanjiTJor and the pains 

That bile inflicts, diffused tlirough all thy veins ; 

Relentless malady ! not moved to spare 

By thy sweet Roman voice and Lesbian air ! 

Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies 
And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, 
Pythius, or Pa?an, or what name divine 
Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine i 
Ye gToves of Faunus, and ye liills that melt 
With vinous dews, where meek Evauder dwelt ! 
If aught salubrious in your confines grow. 
Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's woe, 
That, render'd to the muse he loves, again 
He may enchant the meadows with his strain. 

£48 



FROM MILTON. 131 

Nuina, reclined in everlasting ease 
Amid the shade of dai-k embowering trees. 
Viewing with eyes of nnabated iire 
His loved ^geria, shall that strain admire 
So sooth d, the tumid 'J'iber shall revere 
The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year. 
Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein. 
And guide them harmless, till they meet the main. 



TO GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO 
marquis of villa. 

Milton's account of manso. 

jiovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian noble- 
man of the liifi^liest estiniDtion anions; his countrymen, for 
genius, literature, and military acconipUshnients. To him Tor- 
quato Tasso aJJressed his Dialogues on Friendship, for he was 
much tlie friend of Tasso, vho has also celebrated him among 
the other princes of his coinilry, in his poem entitled Gerusa- 
lemme Conquistata, book xx 

Fra cavalier magnanirai, e cortesi, 
Risplende il Manso. 

Dnrini? the Author's stay at Naples, ho received at the hands of 
the Marquis a thousand kind offices and ci\ilities, and, de^roiw 
not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time be- 
fore his departure from that city. 

These verses also to thy praise, the Nine, 
Manso ! happy in that theme, design. 
For, Gallus and Maecenas gone, they see 
None such besides, or whom they love as thee 
And if my verse may give the meed of fame. 
Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. 
Already such, it shines in Tasso's page 
Tor thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age. 
And, next, the muse consign'd (not unaware 
How high the charge) Marino to thy care. 
Who, singing to the nymphs Adonis' praise. 
Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. 
To thee alone the poet would entrust 
His latest vows, to thee alone his dust ; 

649 



132 TRANSLATIONS 

And thou with punctual piety hast paid, 

In laboui-'d brass, thy tribute to his shade. 

Nor tliis contented thee — but lest the grave [save, 

Should aught absorb of theirs which thou couldst 

All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach 

Tlie life, lot, genius, character of each. 

Eloquent as the Carian sage, who, true 

To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. 

I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come 
Chill 'd by rude blasts that freeze my northern home 
Tliee dear to Clio, confident proclaim. 
And thine, for Phoebus' sake, a deathless name. 
Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eyo 
A muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky. 
Who fears not, indiscreet as she is young. 
To seek in Latium hearers of her song. 
We too, where Thames with its unsullied waves 
The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves. 
Hear oft by night, or, slumbering, seem to hear, 
O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling 
And we could boast a Tityrus of yore [clear ; 

Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. 

Yes — dreary as we own our northern clime. 
E'en we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme. 
We too serve Phoebus ; Phoebus has received 
(If legends old may claim to be believed) 
No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear. 
The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year. 
The fragrant crocus, and, to grace his fane, 
Fair damsels chosen from the druid train 
Druids, our native bards in ancient time, 
Who gods and heroes praised in hallow'd rhyme f 
Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround 
Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound, 
They name the virgins who arrived of yore 
With British offerings on the Delian shore, 
Loxo, from giant Corinevis spi-ung, 
Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung. 
And Hacaerge, with the golden hair, [bare, 

All deck'd with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms 

Th(m, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime 
Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after time, 

660 



FROM MILTON. 133 

Or with Marino's, sh-alt he known their friend 
And with an equal flischt to fame ascend. 
The world shall hear how Phoetus and the Nine 
Were inmates once, and willing ^ests of thine. 
Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain'd to roam 
The earth, an exile from his heavenly home 
Enter'd, no willing g-uest, Admetus' door, 
Though Hercules had ventured there before. 
But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene 
Of rural peace, cloth'd with perpetual green. 
And thither, oft as respite he required 
From rustic clamours loud, the god retired. 
There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclined 
At some oak's root, ^\^th ivy thick entwined, 
Won by his hospitable friend's desire, 
He sooth'd his pains of exile with the lyre. 
Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore 
Nor (Eta felt his load of forest more ; 
The upland elms descended to the plain, 
And soften'd lynxes wouder'd at that strain. 
Well may we think, Oh, dear to all above ! 
Thy birth distinguish'd by the smile of Jove, 
And that Apollo shed his kindliest power. 
And Maia's son, on that propitious hour. 
Since only minds so bom can comprehend 
A poet's worth, or yield that worth a friend. 
Hence on thy yet unfaded cheek appears 
The lingering freshness of thy greener yeaara. 
Hence in thy front and features we admire 
Nature unwither'd and a mind entire. 
O might so true a friend to me belong. 
So skill'd to grace the votaries of song. 
Should I recall hereafter into rhyme 
The kings and heroes of nay native clime, 
Arthur the chief, who even now prepares. 
In subterraneous being, future wars, 
Witii all his martial knights, to be restored 
Each to his seat around the federal board ; 
And Oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse 
Oar Saxon plunderers in triumphant verse I 
Then, after all, when, with the past content, 
A life I fimsh, not in silence spent; 



IM T11ANSL.VT10NS 

Should he, kind mourner, o'er my death-bed bend 

I shall but need to say — ' Be yet my friend !' 

He, too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe 

To honour me, and with the graceful wreath 

Or of Parnassus or the Paphian isle 

Shall bind my brows — but I shall rest the while 

Tlien ahso, if the fruits of faith endure. 

And virtue's i>romised recompense be sure. 

Born to those seats to which the blest aspire 

By purity of soul and virtuous lire, 

These rites, as fate permits, I shall svirvey 

Witli eyes illumined by celestial day, 

And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven, 

Joy in the bi-i^ht beatitude of lieaven ! 



ON THE DEATH OF DAMON. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Thyrsis and Damon, sheplicnls and neis^liboiirs, had always pu^ 
sued the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, heeii 
unit«d in tlie chist-st friendship. Thyrsis. while travclliiiEf foi 
ini|)FoveHicnt, received intelligence of the death of Damon, 
and, after a time, returnins^ and findinpr it true, deplores him 
self, and his solitary eoudition. iu this poem. 

By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with tl:e 
Italian city of Lucca bv Ids father's side, in other respects an 
Englishman ; a youth of uncommon f^eiiius, erudition, and 
virtue. 

Ye N^Tnphs of Himera, (for ye have shed 
Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Kylas dead. 
And over B ion's long-lamented bier. 
The fruitless meed of many a sacred teai-) 
Now through the villas laved by Thames reltearse 
The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse, [found 

What sighs he heaved, and how with gToans pro- 
He made the woods and hollow rocks resound, 
Yotmg- Damon dead ; nor even ceased to pour 
His lonely sorrov/s at the midnight hour. 

The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear. 
And golden harvest twice enrich 'd the year. 
Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air 
The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet wa3 there ; 



FROM MILTON. 135 

For he, enamour'd of the muse, temam'd 
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd, 
But, stored at length with ail he wish'd to learn. 
For his flock's sake now hasted to return ; 
And when the shepherd had resumed his seat 
At the elm's root, within his old retreat, 
Then 'twas his lot, then all his loss to know, 
And from his burthen'd heart he Tented thus his woe : 
' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [due 

Alas ! what deities shall I suppose 
In heaven, or eartli, concera'd for human woes. 
Since, Oh my Damon ! their severe decree 
So soon condemns me to regret of thee ! 
Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid 
Witli fame and honour, like a vulgar shade I 
Let him forbid it whose bright rod controls. 
And separates sordid from illustrious souls ; 
Drive far tlie rabble, and to thee assign 
A happier lot with spirits Avorthy thine ! 

' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [due 

Whate'er befall, unless by ci-uel chance 
The wolf first give me a forbidding glance, 
I'hou Shalt not moulder undeplored, but long 
Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue. 
To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay. 
And, after him, to thee the votive lay. 
While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love. 
Or FauniLs to frequent the field or grove ; 
At least, if ancient piety and truth. 
With all the learned labours of thy youth. 
May serve thee aught, or to have left behind 
A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. 

* Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [du« 

Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide. 
As thou wast wont, for ever at my side. 
Both When the rugged frost annoy'd our feet. 
And when the herbage all was parch'd with heat ; 
Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent. 
Or th«j huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went : 

2 N 5« 



136 TRANSLATIONS 

Whose converse now shall calm my stormy day^ 
With chai-ming: song who now beguile my way '? 

' Go, seek youi- lM)me, my lambs; my thoughts am 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [due 

In whom shall I confide ? Whose counsel find 
A balmy medicine for my troubled mind 1 
Or whose discoui-se with innocent delight 
Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night, 
While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear, 
And blackening chestnuts start and crackle there. 
While stonns abroad the dreary meadows whelm, 
^d the wind thunders through the neighbouring elm. 

* Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are 
To other cares tiian those of feeding you. [due 
Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, 
And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech, 
When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge. 
And the stretch'd rustic snores beneath the hedge, 
Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein 

Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? 

* Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts arc 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [due 
Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown 
With tangled boughs, I wander now alone, 

Till night descend, while blustering wind and shower 
Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bower. 

* Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [due 
Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields. 
And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields ; 

My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees. 
Bear shrivel'd gi-apes ; my myrtles fail to please ; 
Nor please me more my flocks : they, slighted, turn 
Their imavailing looks on me, and mourn. 

' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts »re 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [du* 

JEgon invites me to the hazel grove, 
Amyntas, on the river's bank to rove, 
And young Alphesiboeus to a seat 
Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. 
*' Here fountains spring — here mossy hillocks rise } 
Here zephyr whispers, and the stream replies." 

554 



FROM MILTON. 137 

Thus each persuades, but, deaf to every call, 
I gain the thickets, and esgape them all. 

* Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are 
To other cares thau those of feeding you. [due 
Then Mopsus said, (tlie same who reads so well 
The voice of birds, and what the stars foretell, 

For he by chance had noticed ray retiim) 

" What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern 1 

Ah, Thyrsis ! thou art eitlier crazed with love. 

Or some sinister influence from above ; 

Dull Satiam's influence oft the shepherds rue ; 

His leaden shaft oblique has pierced thee through. ' 

* Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are. 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
The nymphs amazed, my melancholy see. 

And, " Thyrsis !" cry — " what will become of thee ? 
What wouldst thou, Thyrsis ? such should not appeal 
The brow of youth, stem, gloomy, and severe ; 
Brisk youth should laugh, and love — ah, shun the fate 
Of those, twice wretched mopes i who love too late I" 

' Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care, 
^gle with Hyas came, to soothe my pain. 
And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain. 
Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat 
Known far and near, and for her self-conceit 
Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands 
That skirt the Idumanian current stands ; 
But all in vain they came, and but to see 
Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. 

* Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Ah blest indifl'erence of the playful herd. 
None by his fellow chosen, or preferr'd! 
No bonds of amity the flocks inthral. 

But each associates, and is pleased with all; 
So graze the dappled deer in numerous droTes, 
And all his kind alike the zebra loves ; 
The same law governs, where the billows roar, 
And Proteus' shoals o'erspread the desert shore ; 
The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race. 
His fit companion finds in every place. 



13S TRANSLATIONS 

With wliojn be picks the grain that suits him best. 
Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest. 
And whom, if chance the falcon make his prey 
i)T hedger with his well-aim'd aiTow slay, 
for no such loss the gay survivor grieves, 
New love he seeks, and new delight receives. 
We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice, 
Scorning all others, in a single choice. 
We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind. 
And if the long-sought good at last we find. 
When least we fear it. Death our treasure steals. 
And gives our heart a wound that nothing heals. 

' Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Ah, what delusion Im-ed me from my flocks, 
To ti'averse Alpine snows and rugged rocks ! 
What need so great had I to visit Rome, 
Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? 
Or, had she flourish'd still, as when, of old. 
For her sake Tit^Tus forsook his fold, 
What need so great had I to incur a pause 
Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause, 
For such a cause to place the roaring sea, 
Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and me ' 
Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, composed 
Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eyelids closed, 
And, at the last, had said — " Farewell — ascend — 
Nor even in the skies forget thy friend!" 

* Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Although well pleased, ye tuneful Tuscan swains I 
My mind the memory of your worth retains, 
Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn 
My Damon lost. — He too was Tuscan bom. 
Bom in your Lucca, city of renown ! 
And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own 
Oh how elate was I, when stretch'd beside 
The murmuring course of Amo's breezy tide. 
Beneath the poplar gi'ove I pass'd my hours, 
Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flowers, 
And hearing, as I lay at ease along, 
Your swains contending for the- prize of song ? 



FROM MILTON. 139 

I also dared attempt (and, as it seems, 
Not much displeased attempting) varioua themes. 
For even I can presents boast from you. 
The shepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too. 
And Dati, and Francini, both have made 
My name familiar to the beechen shade. 
And they are learu'd, and each in every place 
Benown'd for song, and both of Lydian race. 

' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare , 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
WhUe bright the dewy grass with moonbeams shone, 
And I stood hurdling in my kids alone. 
How often have I said (but thou hadst found 
Ere then thy dark cold lodgment underground) 
Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares. 
Or Avickerwork for various use prepares ! 
How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann'd 
New scenes of pleasure that I hoped at hand, 
Call'd thee abroad as I was wont, and cried — 
" What, hoa! my friend — come, lay thy task aside; 
Haste, let us forth together, and beguile 
The heat beneath yon whispering shades awhile, 
Or on the margin stray of Colne's clear flood, 
Or where Cassibelan's gray turrets stood ! 
There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach 
Thy friend the name and healing powers of each. 
From the tall bluebell to the dwai-fish weed, 
What the dr>- land, and what the marshes breed, 
For all their kinds alike to thee are known 
And the whole art of Galen is thy own." 
Ah, perish Galen's art, and wither'd be 
The useless herbs that gave not health to thee ! 
Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream 
I meditating eat some statelier theme, 
The reeds no sooner touch 'd my lip, though new, 
And unessay'd before, than wide they flew. 
Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustain 
The deep-toned music of the solemn strain ; 
And I am vain, perhaps, but I will teU 
How proud a theme I chose— ye groves, farewell I 

' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 



140 TRANSLATIONS 

Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be. 

How ';vith his barks he plough'd the British sea. 

First from Rutupia's towering headland seen. 

And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen ; 

Of Brennus, and Belinus, brothers bold. 

And of Aniragus, and how of old 

Our hardy sires th' Arraorican control'd. 

And of the wife of GorloYs, who, surprised 

By Uther, in her husband's form disguised, 

(Such was the force of Merlin's art) became 

Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame. 

These themes I now revolve — and Oh — if Fate 

Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date. 

Adieu my shepherd's reed — yon pine tree bougb 

Sliall be thy future home, there dangle thou 

Forgotten and disused, unless ere long 

Thou change thy Latian for a British song ; 

A British 1 — even so — the powers of man 

Are bounded ; little is the most he can ; 

And it shall well suffice me, and shall be 

Fame and proud recompense enough for me, 

If Usa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learn, 

If Alain bending o'er his crv'stal um. 

Swift-whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream 

Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem, 

Tamar's ore-tinctured flood, and, after these, 

The wave-woi-n shores of utmost Orcades. 

* Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
All this I kept in leaves of laurel rind 
Enfolded safe, and for thy view design'd, 
This — and a gift from Mango's hand beside, 
(Manso, not least his native city's pride) 
Two cups that radiant as their giver shone, 
Adom'd by sculpture with a double zone. 
The spring was graven there ; here slowly -wind 
The Red Sea shores with groves of spices lined, 
Her plumes of various hues amid tlie boughs 
The sacred, solitary phoenix shows. 
And, watchful of the dawn, reverts her head 
To see Aurora leave her watery bed. 



FROM MILTON. 141 

— In other part, the expansive vault above 
And there too, even tliere, the god of love ; 
With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays 
A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze, 
Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls, 
Nor aims at vulgar minds or little souls. 
Nor deig-ns one look below, but, aiming high. 
Sends every arrow to the lofty sky ; 
Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learu 
The power of Cupid, and enamour'd bum. 
' Thou also, Damon (neither need I fear 
That hope delusive) thou art also there ; 
For whither should simplicity like thine 
Retire, where else such spotless virtue shine 1 
Thou dwelVst not (thought profane) in shades below, 
Nor tears suit thee — cease then, my tears, to flow. 
Away with grief: on Damon ill bestow'd ! 
"Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode. 
Has pass'd the showery arch, henceforth resides 
With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides 
Quaffs copious immortality and joy 
With hallow'd lips ! — Oh ! blest without alloy. 
And now enrich 'd with all that faith can claim. 
Look down, entreated by whatever name. 
If Damon please thee most (that rural sound 
Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around), 
Or if Deodatus, by which alone 
In those ethereal mansions thou art known. 
Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste 
Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste. 
The honours, therefore, by divine decree 
The lot of virgin worth, are given to thee : 
Thy brows encircled with a radiant band. 
And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand. 
Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice. 
And join with seraphs thy according voice. 
Where raptxire reigns, and the ecstatic lyre 
Guides tha blest orgies of the blazing quire. 



JtOO 



142 TRANSLATIONS 

AN ODE, 

ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, 
LIBUARIAN OF THK UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 



On a lost Volume of my Poems, which lie desired me to 
replace, that he might add them to my other Works deposited in 
the Library. 

This Ode is rendered without rhyme, that It might more 
adequately represent the original, which, as Milloii hiuiseU 
informs us, i^ of no certain measure. It I'.iay possibly for thin 
reason disappoint the reader, thouifh it cost the writer more 
labour than the translation of any other piece in the whole 
collection. 



My twofold book ! single in show, 

But double in contents, 
Neat, but not curiously adorn'd. 

Which, in his early youth, 
A poet gave, no lofty one in truth, 
Although an earnest wooer of the muse — 
Say while in cool Ausonian shades 

Or British wilds he roam'd. 
Striking- by tarns his native lyre, 

By turns the Daunian lute. 

And stepp'd almost in air — 

ANTISTHOPHK. 

Say, little book, what furtive hand 
Thee from thy fellow books convey'd. 
What time, at the repeated suit 
Of my most learned friend, 
I sent thee forth, an honi>u-'d traveller, 
From our great city to the source of Thames, 

Ccerulean sire ! 
Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring, 
Of the Aonian choir. 
Durable as yonder spheres. 
And through the endless lapse of years 
Secure to he. admired ? 



FROM MILTON. 143 

STROPHE II. • 

Now what god, or demigod, 
For Britain's ancient genius moved, 

(If our afflicted land 
Have expiated at length the guilty sloth 
Of her degenerate sons) 
Shall terminate our impious feuds, 
And discipline with hallow'd voice recall 1 
Recall the muses too. 
Driven from their ancient seats 
In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore, 
And with keen Phoebean shafts 
Piercing the unseemly birds. 
Whose talons menace us. 
Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar 1 

ANTISTROPHE. 

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd, 
Whether by treachery lost. 
Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, 
Fyom all thy kindred books. 
To some dark cell or cave forlorn. 

Where thou endurest, perhaps. 
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand. 
Be comforted — 
For lo I again the splendid hope appears 

ITiat thou mayst yet escape 
The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings 
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove I 

STROPHE III. 

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains 
That, though by promise his. 
Thou yet appear'si not in thy place 
Among the literary noble stores 

Given to his care. 
But, absent, leavest his numbers incomplete. 
He, therefore, guardian vigilant 
Of that unperishing wealth. 



144 TRANSLATIONS 

Calls thee to the interior shnne, his charge^ 
Where h^ intends a richer treasure far 
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son 
Illustrious, of the fair Creiisa horn) 
In the resplendent temple of his god. 
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine. 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves. 
The muses' favourite haunt ; 
Resume thy station in Apollo's dome, 

Dearer to him 
Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill i 

Exulting go. 
Since now a splendid lot is also thine. 
And thou art sought by my propitious friend i 
For there thou shalt be read 
With authors of exalted note. 
The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome. 



Ye, then, my works, no longer vain. 
And worthless deem'd by me 1 
Whate'er this sterile genius has produced^ 
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent. 
An unmolested happy home^ 
Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend^ 
W here never flippant tongue profane 
Shall entrance find, 
And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude 
Shall babble far remote. 
Perhaps some futui-e distant age. 
Less tinged with prejudice, and better taugV 
Shall fui-nish minds of power 
To judge more equally. 
Then, malice silenced in the tomb. 
Cooler heads and sormder hearts. 
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise 
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim. 



FROM MILTON. 14S 

TRANSLATIOlsS 

OF 

THE ITALIAN POEMS. 



SONNET. 



Fair Lady! whose harmonious uame the Rhine, 
Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear, 
Base were indeed the wretch wlio could forbear 

To love a spirit elegant as thine. 

That manifests a sweetness all divine. 

Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, 
Ajid gTaces, which Love's bow and arrows are. 

Tempering thy vii-tues to a softer shine. 

When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay. 
Such strains as might the senseless forest move» 

Ah then — turn each his eyes and ears away 
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love ! 

Grace can alone preserve him ere the dart 

Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. 



SONNET. 



As on a hill-top rude, when closing day 

Imbrowns the scene, some pastoral maiden fair 
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, 
Borne from tts native genial airs away. 
That scarcely can its tender bud display. 

So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare, 
Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there. 
While thus, O sweetly scornful ! I essay 
Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown. 
And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain ; 
So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown 
That what he wills, he never wills in vain. 
Oh that this hard and sterile breast might be 
To Him, who plants from Heaven, a soil as free! - 
U 

563 



140 TRANSLATIONS 



CANZONE. 

THEV mock my toil — the nymphs and amorous 

swain&-— 
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry. 
Love-songs in language that thou little know'st? 
How darest thou risk to si.ng: these loreijyn sti-aius 1 
Say truly. Fiud'st not oft thy purpose oross'd 
And that thy fairest flowers here fade and die 
Then with pretence of admiration high— 
Thee other shores expect, and other tides. 
Rivers, on whose grassy sides 
Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to hind 
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ; 
Why then this burthen, better far declined ? 

Speak, muse ! for me — the fair one said, who guifles 
My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, 
•This is the language in which Love delights." 



SONNET, 

TO CHARLES DEODATI. 



Charles— and I say it wondering — thou must know 
That I, who once assumed a scornful air 
And scofl^'d at Love, am fallen in his snare, 
(Full many an upright man has fcillen so :) 
Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 
Of golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare 
The heartfelt beauties of my foreign fair ; 
A mien majestic, with dark brows that show 
The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; 
Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, 
And song, whose fascinating power might bind. 
And from her sphere draw down the labouring moon ; 
With such fii-s-darting eyes that, shoiUd I fill 
My ears with wax, she would enchant me still. 

664 



FROM MILTON. 147 



SONNET. 



Lady! It cannot te but that thine eyes 

Must be my sun, such radiance they display, 
And strike me e'en as Phcebus him whose v/ay 
Throug-h horrid Libya's sandy desert lies. 
Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise 
Where most 1 sufi'er. Of what kind are they. 
New as to me they are, I cannot say, 
But deem them, in the lover's lang-uaue — sig:hs. 
Some, though with pain, my bosom close concealsj 
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend 
To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals. 
While others to my tearful eyes ascend. 
Whence my sad nights in showers are ever drown'd 
TiU my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound. 



SONNET. 

* 

Enamoub'd, artless, young, on foreign ground* 

Uncertain whither from myself to fly ; 

To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh 
Let me devote my heart, wliich I have found 
By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound. 

Good, and addicted to conceptions high : 
When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky. 
It rests in adamant self-wrapt around. 
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude, 
From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse, 
As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude, 
Of the resounding lyTe, and every muse. 
Weak you will find it in one only part, 
Now pierced by love's immedicable dart. 



148 TKANSLATiONS FROM MILTON 



SIMILE IN PARADISE LOST. 

'So when, from mountain tops, the dusky clouds 
Ascending;,' fit. 

Quales aerii montis de veitice niibes 

Cum surgiuit, et jam Boreaj tumida ora quiSnint, 

Cielura hilares abdit, spissa caligine, vultus: 

Turn si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore, 

Et croceo moiites et pascua lumine tingat, 

Gaudent omnia, aves mulceut concentibus agros, 

Balatiique ovium coUes raUeaque resultant. 



TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON 
MILTON. 

Tres tria, sed longe distantia, saecula vates 

Ostentant trilms e gentibus eximios. 
Graecia sublimem, cum majestate disertum 

Roma tulit, felix Anglia utrique parem. 
Partubus ex binis Natura exhausta, coacta ert» 

Tei-tius ut fieret, consociare duos. 

July. nm. 



149 

TRANSLATIONS 

fROM 

VINCENT BOURNE. 

THE THRACIAN, 

Ihraoian parents, at his birth, 

Motirn their babe with many a tear 

But with imdissembled mirt;h 
i'Jace him breathless on his bier. 

Greece and Rome with equal scorn, 

♦ the savages!' exclaim, 
' Whether they rejoice or mourn. 

Well entitled to the name !' 

But the cause ot this concern. 
And this pleasure, would they trac«. 

Even they might somewhat learn 
From the savages of Thrace. 



RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY 
LAW OF NATURE. 

Anl'^ocles, from his injured lord, in dread 

Of instant death, to Libya's desert lied. 

Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with heat, 

H ■ spied at length a cavern's cool retreat; 

But scarce had given to rest his weary frame. 

When, hugest of his kind, a lion came : 

He roar'd approaching : but the savage din 

To plaintive murmurs changed — arrived within, 

And with expressive looks, his lifted paw 

Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw. 

5ti7 



150 TRANSLATIONS 

The fugitive, through terror at a stand, 

Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand ; 

But bolder grown, at length inherent found 

A' pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. 

The cure was wrought; he wiped the sanious blood, 

And firm and free from pain the lion stood. 

Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day 

Regales his inmate with the parted prey. 

Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared. 

Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. 

But thus to live — still lost — sequestered still — 

Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge a heavier ill. 

Home ! native home ! O might he but repair! 

He must — he will, though death attends him there. 

He goes, and doom'd to perish on the sands 

Of the full theati'e unpitied stands : 

When lo I the selfsame lion from his cage 

Flies to devour him, famish'd into rage. 

He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey 

The man, his healer, pauses on his way. 

And, soften'd by remembrance into sweet 

And kind composure, crouches at his feet. 

Mute with astonishment, the assembly gaze : 
But why, ye Romans ? Whence your mute amaze ? 
All this is natural: nature bade him rend 
An enemy ; she bids him spare a friend. 



A MANUAL, 

MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, 
NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY CATALOGUE. 

There is a book, which we may call 

(Its excellence is such) 
Aloiie a library, though small ; 

The ladies thumb it much. 
Words none, things numerous it contains: 

And things with words compared, 
Who needs be told, that has his brains. 

Which merits most regard ? 



568 



FROM VINCENT BOURNE. l&! 

Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue 

A golden edging- boast ; 
And open'd, it displays to view 

Twelve pages at the most. 

Nor name nor title, stamp'd behind^ 

Adorns its outer part ; 
But all within 'tis richly lined, 

A magazine of art. 

The whitest hands that secret hoard 

Oft visit : and the fair 
Preserve it in their bosoms stored 

As with a miser's care. 

Thence implements of every size. 

And form'd for various use, 
(They need but to consult their eyes) 

They readily produce. 

The largest and the longest kind 

Possess the foremost page, 
A sort most needed by the blind, 

Or nearly such from age. 

The full-charged leaf, which next ensuefe. 

Presents in bright array 
The smaller sort, which matrons use. 

Not quite so blind as they. 

The third, the fourth, the fifth supply 

What their occasions ask. 
Who with a more discerning eye 

Perfoi-m a nicer task. 

But still with regular decrease 

From size to size they fall. 
In every leaf grow less and less ; 

The last are least of all. 

O I what a fund of genius, pent 

In narrow space is here ! 
This volume's method and inten 

How luminous and clear. 

• O ,^ 



i52 TRANSLATIONS 

It leaves no reader at a loss 

Or posed, whoever reads : 
No commentator's tedious gloss. 

Nor even index needs. 

Search Bodley's many thousands o'efff 
No book is treasured there, 

Nor yet in Granta's numerous store. 
That may with this compare. 

No I— rival none in either host 

Of this was ever seen. 
Or that contents could justly hoaat 

So brilliant and so keen. 



AN ENIGMA. 

A NEEDLE, small as small can be. 
In bulk and use surpasses me. 

Nor is my purchase dear; 
For little, and almost for nought. 
As many of my kind are bought 

As days are in the year. 

Yet though but little use we boast. 
And are procured at little cost. 

The labour is not light ; 
Nor few artificers it asks, 
All skilful in their several tasks. 

To fashion us aright. 

One fuses metal o'er the fire, 
A second draws it into wire. 

The shears another plies , 
Who clips in length the brazen thread 
For him who, chafing every shred 

Gives all an equal size. 



FROM VliNCENT BOURNE. 153 

A fifth prepares, exact and round. 
The knob with which it must be crown'd 

His follower makes it fast : 
And with his mallet and his file 
To shape the point, employs awhile 

The seventh and the last. 

Now therefore, CEdipus ! declare 
What creature, wonderful, and rare, 

A process that obtains 
Its purpose with so much ado 
At last produces ! — tell me true, 

And take me for your pains ! 



SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN 
TRINITV COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 

None ever shared the social feast. 
Or as an inmate or a ^est, 
Beneath the celebrated dome 
Where once Sir Isaac had hw home. 
Who saw not (and with some delight 
Perhaps he view'd the novel sight) 
How numei-ous, at the tables there. 
The sparrows beg their daily fare. 
For there, in every nook and cell 
Where such a famUy may dwell. 
Sure as the vernal season comes 
Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs. 
Which kindly given, may serve with food 
Convenient their unfeather'd brood ; 
And oft as with its summons clear 
The warning bell salutes their ear. 
Sagacious listeners to the sound. 
They flock from all the fields aroxmd. 
To reach the hospitable hall. 
None more attentive to the call. 
Arrived, the pensionary band 
Hopping and chirping, close at hand, 
H 2 

.571 



154 TRANSLATIONS 

Solicit what they soon receive, 
The sprinkled, plenteous donative. 
Thus is a multitude, though large. 
Supported at a trivial charge : 
A single doit would ovei'pay 
The expenditure of every day. 
And who can gTudge so small a grace 
To Buppliants, natives of the place 1 



FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. 

As in her ancient mistress' lap 

The youthful tabby lay, 
They gave each other many a tap, 

Alike disposed to play. 

But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, 

And with protiiided claws 
Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm. 

Mere wantonness the cause. 

At once, resentful of the deed. 
She shakes her to the ground 

With many a threat that she shall bleed 
With still a deeper wound. 

But, Lydia, bid tliy fury rest : 

It was a venial stroke : 
For she that will with kittens jest 

Should bear a kitten's joke. 



INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST 

Sweet bird, whom the winter constrain*— 
And seldom another it can — 

To seek a retreat while he rei^rns 

In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man 

572 



FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 155 

Who never can seem to intrude. 

Though in all places equally free. 
Come, oft as the season is rude, 

Thou art sure to be welcome to ms. 

At sight of the first feeble ray 

That pierces the clouds of the east. 
To inveigle thee every day 

My windows shall shew thee a feast. 
For, taught by experience, I know 

Thee mindful of benefit long ; 
And that, thankful for all I bestow. 

Thou wilt pay me with many a song^. 

Then, soon as the swell of the buds 

Bespeaks the renewal of spring. 
Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods. 

Or where it shall please thee to sing : 
And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost. 

Come again to my Avindow or door. 
Doubt not an affectionate host. 

Only pay as thou paid'st me before. 

Thus music must needs be confess'd 

To flow from a fountain above ; 
Else how should it work in the breast 

Unchangeable friendship and love ? 
And who on the globe can be found. 

Save your generation and ours. 
That can be delighted by sound. 

Or boasts any musical powers ? 



STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. 

The shepherd touch'd his reed ; sweet Philomel 
Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain. 

And treasuring, as on her ear they fell. 
The numbers, echo'd note for note again. 



156 TRANSLATIONS 

The peeyish youth, who ne'er had found before 

A rival of his skill, indignant heard, 
And soon (for various was his tuneful store) 
In loftier tones defied the simple bird. 

She dared the task, and, rising as he rose, 
With all the force that passion gives inspired, 

Retum'd the sounds awhile, but in the close 
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired. 

Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. O fatal strife. 
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun; 

And, O sad victory, which cost thy life. 
And he may wish that he had never won 1 



ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, 

WHO LITBD ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HKH 

BIRTHDAY, 1728. ! 

Ancient dame, how wide and vast 

To a race like ours appears. 
Rounded to an orb at last. 

All thy multitude of years ! 

We, the herd of human kind, 

Frailer and of feeblei powers ; 
We, to naiTow boujids confined. 

Soon exhaust the sum of ours. 

Death's delicious banquet — we 

Perish even from the womb. 
Swifter than a shadow flee. 

Nourish' d but to feed the tombw 

Seeds of merciless disease 

Lnrk in all that we enjoy; 
Some that waste us by degrees, 

&)me that suddenly destroy. 



FROM VINCEMT BULRxNE. ISJ 

And, if life o'erleap the boui-n 

Common to the sons of men. 
What remains, but that we moui-n. 

Dream, and dote, and drivel then f 

Fast as moons can wax and wane 
Sorrow comes ; and while we groan, 

Pant with anguish, and complain. 
Half our years are fled and gone. 

If a few (to few 'tis given). 
Lingering on this earthly stage. 

Creep and halt with steps uneven 
To the period of an age. 

Wherefore live they, but to see 

Cmining, arrogance, and force. 
Sights lamented much by thee. 

Holding their accustom'd course t 

Oft was seen, in ages past. 
All that we with wonder new ; 

Often shall be to the last; 
Earth produces nothing new. 

Thee we gratulate, content 

Should propitious heaven design 

Life for us as calmly spent. 
Though but half the length of 



THE CAUSE WON. 

Two neighbours furiously dispute ; 
A field — the sxibject of the suit. 
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage 
With which the combatants engage, 
'Twere hard to tell who covets most 

The prize at whatsoever cost. 

The pleadings swell. Words still 
No single word but has its price. 



158 TKANSLATIONS 

No term but yields some fair pretence 
For novel and increased expense. 

Defendant thus becomes a name, 
Wliicb he that bore it may disclaim, 
Since both, in one description blended, 
Are plaintiffs — when the suit is ended. 



THE SILKWORM. 

The beams of April, ere it goes, 

A worm, scarce visible, disclose ; 

All winter long content to dwell 

The tenant of his native shell. 

The same prolific season gives 

The sustenance by which he lives. 

The mulberry leaf, a simple store. 

That serves him — till he needs no more I 

For, his dimensions once complete. 

Thenceforth none ever sees him eat ; 

Though till his growing time be past 

Scarce ever is he seen to fast. 

That hour arrived, his work begins, 

He spins and weaves, and weaves and spina; 

Till circle upon circle wound 

Careless around him and around, 

Conceals him with a veil, though slight. 

Impervious to the keenest sight. 

Thus self-enclosed as in a cask. 

At length he finishes his task ; 

And, though a worm when he was lost, 

Or caterpillar at the most. 

When next we see him, wings he wears. 

And in papilio pomp appears ; 

Becomes oviparous ; supplies 

With future worms and future flies 

The next ensuing year — and dies ! 

Well were it for the world, if all 

Who creep about this earthly ball. 

Though shorter lived than most he 

Were useful in their kind as he. 



FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 159 

THE INNOCENT THIEF. 

Not a flower can be found in the fields, 
Or the spot that we till for our pleasure. 

From the largest to the least, but it yields 
The bee, never wearied, a treasure. 

Scarce any she quits unexplored 

With a diligence truly exact ; 
Yet, steal what she may for her hoards 

Leaves evidence none of the fact. 

Her lucrative task she pursues, 

And pilfers with so much address. 
That none of their odour they lose, 

Nor charm by their beauty the less. 

Not thus inoffensively preys 

The cankerworm in-dwelling foe I 
His voracity not thus allays 

The sparrow, the finch, or the croTW. 

The worm, more expensively fed. 

The pride of the garden devours ; 
And birds peck the seed from the hed. 

Still less to be spared than the flower*. 
But she with such delicate skill 

Her pillage so fits for her use. 
That the chemist in vain with his still 

Would labour the like to produce. 
Then grudge not her temperate meals. 

Nor a benefit blame as a tlieft ; 
Since, stole she not all that she steals. 

Neither honey nor wax would be left. 



DENNERS OLD WOMAN. 

In this mimic form of a matron in years, 
How plainly the pencil of Denner appears ! 
The matron herself, in whose old age we see 
Not a trace of decline what a w mder is she J 



I6U TRANSLATIONS 

No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging' low, 

No wrinkle, or deep-furrow'd froM-n on the brow J 

Her forehead indeed is here circled around 

With locks like the ribbon with which they are bound; 

While glossy and smooth, and as soft as tlie skin 

Of a delicate pi*ach, is the down of her chin ; 

But nothing- unpleasant, or sad, or severe, 

Or that indicates life in its winter — is here. 

Yet all is express'd with fidelity due. 

Nor a pimple or freckle conceal'd from the view. 

Many fond of new sights, or who cherish a taste 
For the labours of art, to the spectacle haste. 
The youths all agree, that could old age inspire 
The passion of love, her's would kindle the fire. 
And the matrons with pleasure confess that they see 
Ridiculous nothing or hideous in thee. 
The nyniplis for themselves scarcely hope a decline, 
O wonderful woman ! as placid as thine. 

Strange magic of art ! which the youth can engage 
To peruse, half enaniour'd, the features of age ; 
And force from the virgin a sigh of despair, 
That she when as old shall be equally fair ! 
How great is the glory that Deuner has gain'd, 
Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtain'd. 



THE TEARS OF A PAINTER. 

Apelles, hearing that his boy 
Had just expired — his only joy ! 
Although the sight with anguish tore him 
Bade place his dear remains before him. 
He seized his brush, his colours spread ; 
And — ' Oh ! my child, accept,' — he said, 
* ('Tis all that I can now bestow). 
This tribute of a father's woe !' 
Then, faitliful to the twofold part. 
Both of his feelings and his art, 
He closed his eyes with tender care. 
And foi-m'd at once a fellow pair. 
His brow with amber locks beset. 
And lips he drew not livid yet ; 



FROM VINCENT BOURNE. id 

And shaded all that he had done 
To a just image of his son. 

Thus far is well. But view again 
The cause of thy paternal pain ! 
Thy melancholy task fulfil ! 
It needs the last, last touches still. 
Again his pencil's powers he tries. 
For on his lips a smile he spies ; 
And still his cheek unfaded shows 
The deepest damask of the rose. 
Then, heedful to the finish'd whole. 
With fondest eagerness he stole, 
Till scarce himself distinctly knew 
The cherub copied from the true. 

Now, painter, cease ! Thy task is done. 
Long lives this image of thy son ; 
Nor short-lived shall the glory prove 
Or of thy labour or thy love. 



THE MAZE. 

From right to left, and to and fro, 

Caught in a labyi-inth you go. 

And turn, and turn, and turn again, 

To solve the mystery, but in vain ; 

Stand still, and breathe, and take from me 

A clue, that soon shall set you free ! 

Not Ariadne, if you meet her. 

Herself could serve you with a better. 

You enter'd easily — find where — 

And make v/ith ease your exit there ! 



NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER 

The lover, in melodious verses. 
His singiilar distress rehearses. 
Still closing with a rueful cry, 
'Was ever such a wretch as I !' 



ie2 TRANSLATION 

Yes I thousands have endured before 
All thy distress ; some, haply, more. 
Unnumber'd Corydons complain. 
And Strephons, of the like disdain; 
And if thy Chloe he of steel, 
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel ; 
Not her alone that censure fits. 
Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits. 



THE SNAIL. 

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall. 
The Snail sticks close, nor fears to fall. 
As if he grew there, house and all 

Together. 

Within that house secure he hides. 
When danger imminent betides 
Of storm, or other harm besides 

Of weather. 

Give but his horns the slightest touch. 

Ilia self-collecting power is such, 

He shrinks into his house, with much 

DispleasTire-. 

Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone. 
Except himself has chattels none. 
Well satisfied to be his own 

Whole treasure. 

Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads. 
Nor partner of his banquet needs. 
And if he meets one, only feeds 

The faster. 

Who seeks him must be worse than blind 
(He and his house are so combined) 
If, finding it, he fails to find 

Its master. 



FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 163 



THE CANTAB. 

With two spurs or one, and no great matter which. 
Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch, 
Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast, 
Paid part into hand ; you must wait for the rest. 
Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse, 
And out they both sally for better or worse ; 
His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather ; 
And in violent haste to go not knowing whither : 
Through the fields and the towns ; (see !) he 

scampers along, 
And is look'd at and laugh'd at by old and by young. 
Till at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with 

blood, 
Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud. 
In a waggon or chaise, shall he finish his route? 
Oh ! scandalous fate ! he must do it on foot. 

Young gentlemen, hear ! — I am older than you! 
The advice that I give I have proved to be true, 
AVherever your journey may be, never doubt it. 
The faster you ride, you're the longer about it. 



ON THE PICTURE OF A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Sweet babe ! whose image here express's 
Does thy peaceful slumbers show ; 

Guilt or fear, to break thy rest. 
Never did thy spirit know. 

Soothing slumbers ! soft repose ! 

Such as mock the painter's skill. 
Such as innocence bestows. 

Harmless infant ! lull thee still 1 



581 



iG4 



MINOR POEMS 



VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH. ON FINDING 
THE HEEL OF A SHOE. 

Fortune ! I thank thee : gentle goddess ! thanks ! 
Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny 
She would have thauk'd thee rather hadst thou cast 
A treasure in her way ; for neither meed 
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes. 
And bowel-racking pains of emptiness. 
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast, 
Hopes she from this — presumptuous, though, perhaps 
The cobbler, leather-carving artist ! might. 
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon. 
Whatever ; not as erst the fabled cock. 
Vain-glorious fool! unknowing what he found, 
Spum'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah I 
Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure !) 
Conferr'dst thou, goddess ! Thou art blind, thou sayst : 
Enough ! — thy blindness shall excuse the deed. 

Nor does my muse no benefit exhale 
From this thy scant indulgence ! — even here 
Hints worthy sage philosophy are found ; 
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song I 
This ponderous heel of perforated hide 
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row. 
Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks) 
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown 
Upbore : on this supported oft, he stretch'd. 
With uncouth strides, along the fun-ow'd glebe. 
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time 
(What will not cruel time) on a wry step 
Severed the strict cohesion ; when, alas I 
He, who could erst, with even, equal pace. 
Pursue his destined way with symmetry. 
And some proportion form'd, now on one Hide, 

.■582 



MINOR POEMS. 165 

Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys. 
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop. 
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on : 
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet 
Of humble villager — the statesman thus. 
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads. 
Aspiring, first, uninterrupted winds 
His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foult 
While policy prevails, and friends prove true : 
But that support soon failing, by him left. 
On whom he most depended, basely left, 
Betray'd, deserted ; from his airy height 
Headlong he falls ; and through the rest of life 
Drags the dull load of disappointment on. 
1748. 



AN ODE, 

ON READING RICHARDSON'S HISTORY OP 
SIR CHARLES GRANOISON. 

Say, ye apostate and profane, 
Wretches, who blush not to disdain 

Allegiance to your God, — 
Did e'er your idly wastea love 
Of virtue for her sake remove. 

And lift you from the crowd 1 

Would you the race of glory run, 
Know the devout, and they alone. 

Are equal to the task 
The labours of the illustrious coiirse 
Far other than the unaided force 

Of human vigour ask. 

To arm against reputed ill 

The patient heart too brave to feel 

"The tortures of despair 
Nor safer yet high-crested pride. 
When wealth flows in with every tide 

To gain admittance there. 

M3 



[C6 MINOR FORMS. 

'1 o rescue from the tyrant's sword 

The oppress'd ; — luiseen and unimplored, 

To cheer the face of woe ; 
From lawless insult to defend 
An orphan's right — a fallen friend. 

And a forgiven foe ; 

These, these distinguish from the crowd, 
And these alone, the great and good, 

The guardians of mankind ; 
Whose bosoms with these virtues heave, 
O, with what matchless speed they leave 

The mtUtitude behind I 

Then ask ye, from what cause on earth 
Viitues like these derive their birth. 

Derived from Heaven alone ; 
Full on that favour'd breast they shine. 
Where faith and resignation join 

To call the blessing down. 

Such is that heart : — but while the muse 
Thy theme, O Richardson, pursues 

Her feeble spirits faint : 
She cannot reach, and would not wi'ong. 
That subject for an angel's song. 
The hero, and the samtl 
1753. 



AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ. 

'Tis not that I design to rob 
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, 
For thou art born sole heir, and single. 
Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle ; 
Not that I mean, while thus I knit 
My threadbare sentiments together. 



MINOR POEMS. 167 

To show my genius or my wit, 

Wlien God and you know I have neither; 

Or such as might be better shown 

By letting poeti-y alone. 

'Tis not with either of these views 

That I presumed to address the muse : 

But to divert a iicrce banditti, 

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty I 

That, with a black, infernal train, 

Make cruel inroads in my brain. 

And daily threaten to drive thence 

My little garrison of sense ; 

The fierce banditti which I mean 

Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen 

Then there's another reat^^on yet. 

Which is, that I may fairly quit 

The debt, which justly became due 

The moment when I heard from you: 

And you might gnimble, crony mine, 

If paid in any other c jin ; 

Since tv enty sheets of lead, God knows, 

(I would say twenty sheets of pix)se) 

Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much 

As one of gold, and your's was such. 

Thus, the preliminaries settled, 

I fairly find myself pitchkettled. 

And cannot see, though few see better, 

How I shall hammer out a letter. 
First, for a thought — since all agree — 

A thought — I have it — let me see — 

'Tis gone again — plague on't ! I thought 

I had it — but 1 have it not. 

Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son. 

That useful thing, her needle, gone I 

Rake well the cinders, sweep the floor. 

And sift the dust behind the door ; 

While eager Hodge beholds the prize 

In old gTimalkin's glaring eyes ; 

♦ Pitchkettled, a favourite phrase at the time when tWs 
Epistle was written, c-xpressive of beiii^ puzzled, or what in 
tbe Siieitator's time would Iiaveheeu called bamboozled. 

085 



168 MINOR POEMS 

And gammer finds it on her knees 
In every shining straw she sees. 
This simile were apt enough ; 
But I've another, critic proof 
The virtuoso thus, at noon. 
Broiling beneath a July sua, 
The gilded buttertiy pursues. 
O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and meWB; 
And, after many a vain essay. 
To captivate the tempting prey. 
Gives him at length the lucky pat, 
And has him safe beneath his hat : 
Then lifts it gently from the ground ; 
But ah 1 'tis lost as soon as found ; 
Culprit his liberty regains. 
Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains. 
The sense was dark ; 'twas therefore fit 
With simile to illustrate it ; 
But as too much obscures the sight. 
As often as too little light, 
We have our similes cut short., 
For matters of more grave import. 
That Matthew's numbers run with ease, 
Each man of common sense agrees ! 
All men of common sense allow 
That Robert's lines are easy too : 
Where then the preference shall we place, 
Or how do justice in this case ? 
Matthew (says Fame) with endless pains 
Smooth'd and refined' the meanest strains ; 
Nor suffer'd one ill chosen rhyme 
To escape him at the idlest time ; 
And thus o'er all a lustre cast. 
That, while the language lives, shall last 
An't please your ladyship (quoth I), 
For 'tis my business to reply ; 
Sure so much labour, so much toil. 
Bespeak at least a stubborn soil : 
Theirs be the laurel- wreath decreed, 
Who both write well, and write full speod 
Who throw their Helicon about 
As freely as a conduit spoilt I 

ISC 



MINOR POEMS. 169 

Friend Robert, thus like chien scavant, 
Lets fall a poem en passant, 
Nor needs his genuine ore refine ! 
'Tis ready polish'd from the mine. 
1754 



THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK 
OF HORACE. 

A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNKt 
FROM ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM. 

*TwAS a long journey lay before us. 
When I and honest Heliodorus, 
Who far in point of rhetoric 
Surpasses every living Greek, 
Eacli leaving our respective home, 
Together sallied forth from Rome. 

First at Aricia we alight. 
And there refresh, and pass the night. 
Our entertainment rather coarse 
Than sumptuous, but I've met Avith worse. 
Thence o'er the causeway soft and f^ir 
To Appiifoiiim we repair. 
But as this road is well supplied 
(Temptation strong!) on either side 
With inns commodious, snug, and warm, 
We split the journey, and perform 
In two days' time what's often done 
By brisker travellers in one. 
Here, rather choosing not to sup 
Than with bad water mix my cup. 
After a warm debate, in spite 
Of a provoking appetite, 
I sturdily resolved at last 
To balk it, and pronounce a fast. 
And in a moody humour wait. 
While my less dainty comrades bait. 

Now o'er the spangled hemisphere 
Diffused the starry train appear, 
I 



170 MINOR POEMS. 

When there arose a desperate brawl ; 
The slaves and barg-emen, one and all. 
Rending their throats (have mercy on u») 
As if they were resolved to stun us. 
' Steer the barge this way to the shore ; 
I tell you we'll admit no more ; 
Plag-ue ! will you never be content V 
Thus a whole hour at least is spent, 
While they receive the several fares, 
And kick the mule into his gears. 
Happy, these difficulties past, 
Could we have fallen asleep at last ! 
But, what with humming-, croaking, biting. 
Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting. 
These tuneful natives of the lake 
Conspired to keep us broad awake. 
Besides, to make the concert full, 
Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull. 
The bargeman and a passenger, 
Each in his turn, essay 'd an air 
In honour of his absent fair. 
At length the passenger, opprest 
With wine, left oft', and snored the rest. 
The weary bargeman too gave o'er. 
And hearing his companion snore. 
Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge, 
Tuni'd out his mule to graze at large. 
And slept forgetful of his charge. 
And now the sun o'er eastern hill 
Discover'd that our barge stood still; 
When one, whose anger vex'd him sore. 
With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore ; 
Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack. 
Assails the mule and driver's back. 

Then slowly moving on with pain. 
At ten Feronia's stream we gain, 
Ai\i in her pure and glassy wave 
Our hands and faces gladly lave. 
Climbing three miles, fair Anxnr's height 
We reach, with stony quarries white. 
While here, as was agreed, we wait, 
Till, charged with business of the statfe» 



MINOR POEMS. 171 

Maecenas and Cocceius come. 

The messengers of peace from ilome. 

My eyes by watery humours blear 

And sore I with black balsam smear. 

At length they join us, and with them 

Our worthy friend Fonteius came; 

A man of such complete desert, 

Antony loved him at his heart. 

At Fundi we refused to bait. 

And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, 

A praetor now, a scribe before, 

The purple-border'd robe he wore. 

His slave the smoking- censor bore. 

Tired, at Murrena's we repose. 

At Formia sup at Capito's. 

With smiles the rising mom we greet, 
At Sinuessa pleased to meet 
With Plotius, Varius, and the bard 
Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. 
The world no purer spirits knows ; 
For none my heart more warmly glows. 
O ! what embraces we bestow'd. 
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd 
Sure, while my sense is sound and clear. 
Long as I live, I shall prefer 
A gay, good-natured, easy friend, 
To every blessing Heaven can send. 
At a small village the next night 
Near the Vulturnus we alight ; 
Where, as eniploy'd on state affairs. 
We were supplied by the purveyors 
Frankly at once, and without hire. 
With food foT man and horse, and fire. 
Capua next day betimes we reach. 
Where Virgil and myself, who each 
Labour'd with different maladies. 
His such a stomach, mine such eyes, 
As would not bear strong exercies. 
In drowsy mood to sleep resox*t ; 
Maecenas to the tennis-court. 
Next at Cocceius' farm were treated. 
Above the Caudian tavej?a seated; 

589 



172 MINOR POEMS 

His kind and hospitable board 
With choice of wholesome food was stored 

Now, ye Nine, inspire my lavsl 
To nobler themes my fancy raise ! 
Two combatants, who scorn to yield 
The noisy, tong:ue-disputed field, 
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim 
A poet's tribute to their fame ; 
CiciiTus of ti'ue Oscian breed, 
Sarmentus, who was never freed, 
But ran away. We don't defame him ; 
His lady lives, and still may claim him. 
Thus dignified, in harder fray 
These champions their keen wit display, 
.ind first Sarmentus led the way. 
' Thy locks,' quoth he, ' so rough and coarse 
Look like the mane of some v/ild horse.' 
We laugh : CiciiTus undismay'd — 
' Have at you !' — cries, and shakes his head 
' 'Tis well,' Sarmentus says, ' you've lost 
That horn your forehead once could boast ; 
Since, maim'd and mangled as you are, 
You seem to butt.' A hideous scar 
Improved, 'tis true, with double grace 
The native horrors of his face. 
Well. After much jocosely said 
Of his gxim front, so fiery red, 
(For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er. 
As usual on Campania's shore) 
* Give us,' he cried, ' since you're so big, 
A sample of the Cyclops' jig ! 
Your shanks methinks no buskins ask. 
Nor does your phiz require a mask.' 
To this Cicirrus : • In return 
Of you. Sir, now I fain would learn. 
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave. 
Your chains you to the Lares gave. 
For though a scrivener's right you claim 
Your lady's title is the same. 
But what could make you run away. 
Since, pigmy as you are, each day 



MiiNOll POEMS. in 

A single pound of bread would quite 
0"ei"power your puny appetite V 
Thus joked the champions, while we laugh'd 
And many a cheerful bun.jper quaft''d. 

To Beneventum next we steer ; 
Where our good host by over care 
In roasting thmshes lean as mice 
Had almost fallen a sacrifice. 
The kitchen soon was all on fire, 
And to the roof the flames aspire ; 
There might you see each man and master 
Striving, amidst this sad disaster, 
To save the supper. Then they came 
With speed enough to quench the flame. 
From hence we first at distance see 
The Apulian hills, well known to me. 
Parch 'd by the sultry western blast ; 
And which we never should have past. 
Had not Trivicius by the way 
Received us at the close of day. 
But each was forced at entering here 
To pay the tribute of a tear. 
For more of smoke than fire was seen — 
The hearth was piled with logs so green 
From hence in chaises we were earned 
MUes twenty-four, and gladly tarried 
At a small town, whose name my verse 
(So barbarous is it) can't rehearse. 
Know it you may by many a sign. 
Water is dearer far than wine. 
There bread is deem'd such dainty fare 
That every prudent traveller 
His wallet loads with many a crust ; 
For at Canusium you might just 
As well attempt to gnaw a stone 
As think to get a morsel down : 
That too with scanty streams is fed ; 
Its founder was brave Diomed. 
Good Yarius (ah, that friends must part ! 
Here left us all with aching heart 
At Rubi we an-ived that day. 
Well jaded by the length of way, 

SQl 



174 MINOR POEMS. 

And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter ; 
Next day no weather could be better ; 
No roads so bad ; we scarce could crawl 
Along to fishy Barium's wall. 
The Egnatians next, who by the rules 
Of common sense are knaves or fools. 
Made all our sides with laughter heave. 
Since we with them must needs believe 
That incense in their temples burns. 
And without fire to ashes tui-ns. 
To circumcision's bigots tell 
Such tales I for me, I know full well 
That in high heaven, unmoved by care. 
The gods eternal quiet share : 
Nor can I deem their spleen the cause. 
While fickle Nature breaks her laws. 
Bnindusium last we reach : and there 
Stop short the muse and traveller. 
1759. 



THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK 
OF HORACE. 

DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTEU TO THB 
PRESENT TIMES, 1759. 

Sauntering along the street one day. 

On trifles musing by the way — 

Up steps a free familiar wight, 

(I scarcely knew the man by sight) 

' Carlos,' he cried, ' your hand, my dear ; 

Gad, I rejoice to meet you here ! 

Pray heaven I see you well V * So so ; 

E'en well enough as times now go. 

The same good wishes, Sir, to you.' 

Finding he still pursued me close — 

' Sir, you have business I suppose.' 

• My business, Sir, is quickly done, 

'Tis but to make my merit known. 

Sir, I have read ' — ' O learned Sir, 

S9S 



M1N(jU POEiVIS. 175 

Yoa and your learning I revere.' 
Then sweating' with anidety. 
And sadly longing to get free, 
Gods, how I scamper'd, scuffled for't, 
Ran, baited, ran again, stopp'd short, 
Beckon 'd my boy, and pull'd him near. 
And whisper'd nothing in his ear. 

Teased with his loose unjointed chat — 
' What street is this 1 What house is that?' 

Harlow, how I envied thee 
Thy unabash'd effrontery, 

Who darest a foe with freedom blame. 
And call a coxcomb by his name ! 
When I return 'd him answer none. 
Obligingly the fool ran on, 
' I see you're dismally distress'd. 
Would give the world to be released. 
But by your leave. Sir, I shall still 
Stick to yom* skirts, do what you will. 
Pray which way does your journey tend V 
O, 'tis a tedious way, my friend ; 
4.cross the Thames, the Lord knows where, 

1 would not trouble yoii so far.' 

' W^ell, I'm at leisure to attend you.' 

'Are you?' thought I, 'the de'il befriend you.* 

No ass with double panniers rack'd, 

Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, 

E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull 

As I, nor half so like a fool. 

' Sir, I know little of myself, 

(Proceeds the pert conceited elf) 

If Graj or Mason you will deem 

Tlian me more worthy your esteem. 

Poems I write by folios 

As fast as other men write prose ; 

Then I can sing so loud, so clear. 

That Beard cannot with me compare. 

In dancing too I all surpass, 

Not Cooke can move with such a grace.* 

Here I made shift with much ado 

To interpose a word or two. — 

' Have you no parents. Sir, no friends, 

593 



I7(j MINOR POEMS. 

Whose welfare on your owii depends?* 
' Parents, relations, say you 1 No. 
They're all disposed of long- ago.' — 
H appy to be no more pei-plex'd I 
My fate too threatens, I go next 
Dispatch me, Sir, 'tis now too late, 
Alas ! to sti-uggle with my fate ! 
Well, I'm convinced my time is com»— 
When young, a gipsy told my doom. 
The heldame shook her palsied head> 
As she perused my palm, and said : 
Of poison, pestilence, or war, 
Gout, stone, defliixion, or catairh, 
You have no reason to beware. 
Beware the coxcomb's idle prate ; 
Chiefly, my son, beware of that. 
Be sure, when you behold him, fly 
Out of all earshot, or you die.' 

To Rufus' Hall we now draw near ; 
Where he was aummon'd to appear. 
Refute the charge the plaintiff brought. 
Or sufter judginent by default. 

* For Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait 
One moment ! I'll be with you straight.* 
Glad of a plausible pretence — 

■ Sir, I must beg you to dispense 
With my attendance in the court. 
My legs -will surely suffer for't.' 
' Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile !' 

* Faith , Sir, in law I have no skill. 
Besides I have no time to spare, 

I must he going you knoAV where. 
' Well, I protest I'm doubtful now 
Whether to leave my suit or you !' 

* Me without scruple !' I reply, 

* Me by all means. Sir !' — ' No, not I. 
Allons, Monsieur 1' 'Twere Tain, you knoW; 
To strive vpith a victorious foe. 

So I reluctantly obey, 
And follow where he leads the way. 
• You and Newcastle are so close, 
Still hand and glove, Sir— I suppose. •— 

594 



MINOR POEMS. 177 

' Newcastle, let me tell you, Sir, 

Has not his equal every where.' 

' Well. There indeed your fortune's made, 

Faith, Sir, you understand your trade. 

Would you but give me your good word: 

Just introduce me to my lord, 

I should serve charmingly by way 

Of second fiddle as they say : 

What think you. Sir? twere a good jest. 

'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest.' 

'Sir, you mistake the matter far. 

We have no second fiddles there — 

Richer than I some folks may be; 

More learned, but it hurts not me. 

Friends though he has of different kind, 

Each has his proper place assign'd.* 

' Strange matters these alleged by you!' — 

' Strange they may be, but they are true.'-™ 

' Well then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever. 

Now I long ten times more than ever 

To l)e advanced extremely near 

One of his shining character. 

Have but the will — thei-e wants no more, 

'Tis plain enough you have the power. 

His easy temper (that's the worst) 

He knows, and is so shy at first. — 

But such a cavalier as you — 

Lord, Sir, you'll quickly bring him to I— 

Well ; if I fail in my design, 

Sir, it shall be no fault of mine. 

If by the saucy servile tribe 

Denied, what think you of a bribe 1 

Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow. 

But try my luck again to-morrow. 

Never attempt to visit him 

But at the most convenient time/ 

Attend him on each levee day. 

And there my humble duty pay. 

Labour, like this, our want supplies ; 

And they must stoop who mean to rise.' 

While thus he wittingly harangued, 
For which you'll guess I wish 'd him hang'd^ 

12 

S95 



178 MINOR POEMS. 

Campley, a friend of mine, came by, 
Who knew his humuiir more than I ; 
We stop, salute, and — ' Why so fast, 
Friend Carlos { Whither all this haste f- 
Fired at the thoughts of a reprieve, 
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve, 
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout. 
Do every thing but speak plain out : 
While he, sad dog:, from the beginning 
Determined to mistake my meauiug. 
Instead of pitying my curse, 
By jeering made it ten times worse. 
' Campley, what secret (pray !) was that 
Yoii wanted to communicate V 
' I recollect. But 'tis no matter. 
Carlos, we'll talk of that heieafter. 
E'en let the secret rest. 'Twill tell 
jlr-other time, Sir, jvist as well.* 
Was ever such a dismal day? 
Unlucky cur, he steals away, 
And leaves me, half bereft of life, 
At mercy of the butcher's knife ; 
When sudden, shouting from afar. 
See his antagonist appear! 
The bailiff seized him quick as thought, 
• Ho, Mr. Scoundrel ! Are you caught ? 
Sir, you are witness to the arrest.' 
•Ay, maixy, Sir, Fll do my best.' 
The mob huzzas. Away they trudge, 
Culprit and all, before the judge. 
Meanwhile I luckily enough 
(Thanks to Apollo) got olear off. 



A TALE, FOUNDED ON A FACT, 

WHICH HAPPENED IN JANUARY 1779. 

W^BtRE Humber pours his rich commercial stream 
There dwelt a wretch, who breath'd but to blaspheme 
In subteiTaneous caves his life he led, 
Black as the mine in which he wrought for bread. 



MINOR POEMS. lia 

When on a day, emerging from the deep, 

A sabbath-day, (such sabbaths thousands keep ! 

The wages of his weekly toil he bore 

To buy a cock — whose blood miglit win hiin more ; 

As if the noblest of the feather'd kind 

Were but for battle and for death desigu'd ; 

As if the consecrated hours were meant 

For sport, to minds on cruelty intent ; 

It chanced (such chances Providence obey) 

He met a fellow-labourer on the way, 

Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed} 

But now the savage temper was rec.laim'd. 

Persuasion on his lips had taken place ; 

For all plead well who plead the cause of grace. 

His iron heart with scripture he assail'd, 

Woo'd him to hear a sennon, and prevail'd. 

His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew. 

Swift as the lightning-glimpse the arrow flew. 

He wept ; he trembled ; cast his eyes aroimd. 

To find a worse than he ; but none he found. 

He felt his sins, and wonder'd he should feel. 

Grace made the wound, and grace alone could heal. 

Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and liesl 
He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize. 
That holy day was wash'd with many a tear. 
Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear. 
The next, his swarthy brethren of the mine 
Learn'd, by his alter'd speech, the change divine ! 
Laugh'd when they should have wept, and swore the 
Was nigh when he would swear as fast as they, [day 
* No,' said the penitent, ' such words shall share 
This breath no more; devoted now to prayer. 
O ! if Thou seest (thine eye the future sees) 
That 1 shall yet again blaspheme, like these ; 
Now strike me to the ground on which I kneel. 
Ere yet this heart relapses into steel ; 
Now take me to that Heaven 1 once defied, 
Thy presence, thy embrace !' — He spoke, and diedl 



180 MINOR POEMS. 

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, ON HIS RETURN 
FROM RAMS GATE. 

That ocean you have late survey'd. 

Those rocks I too have seen. 
But 1 afflicted and disraay'd. 

You tranquil and serene. 

You from the flood-controlling steep 

Saw stretch'd before your view, 
With conscious joy, the threatening deep. 

No longer such to you. 

To me the waves, that ceaseless broke 

Upon the dangerous coast. 
Hoarsely and ominously spoke 

Of all my treasure lost. 

Your sea of troubles you have past. 

And found the peaceful shore ; 
I, tenipest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last. 

Come home to port no more. 
Oct. 1780. 



LOVE ABUSED. 



What is there in the vale of life 
Half so delightful as a wife, 
When friendship, love, and peace combine 
To stamp the marriage-bond divine ? 
The stream of pure and genuine love 
Derives its cuiTent from above ; 
AthI earth a second Ede«n shows. 
Where'er the healing water flows : 
But ah, if from the dykes and drains 
Of sensual nature's feverish veins. 
Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood, 
Impregnated with ooze and mud, 
Descending fast on every side, 
Ofice mingles with the sacred tide, 

59S 



Mi NOR POEMS. 181 

Fiut well the soul-enliveiiing scene I 
The banks that wore a smiling green. 
With rank defilement overspread, 
Bewail their flowery beauties dead. 
The stream polluted, dark, and dull. 
Diffused into a Stygian pool. 
Through life's last melancholy years 
la fed with ever-flowing tears : 

Complaints supply the zephyr's part. 
And sighs that heave a breaking heart. 



A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. 

Dear Anna — between friend and friend 
Prose answers evei'y common end ; 
Serves, in a plain and homely way. 
To express the occurre7ice of the day ; 
Om- health, the weather, and the news; 
What walks we take, what books we choose ; 
And all the floating thoughts we find 
Upon the surface of the mind. 

But when a poet takes the pen. 
Far more alive than other men, 
He feels a gentle tingling come 
Down to his finger and his thumb. 
Derived from nature's noblest part. 
The centre of a glowing heart: 
And this is what the world, who knows 
No flights above the pitch of prose. 
His more sublime vagaries sli-ghting, 
Denominates an itch for writing. 
N') wonder I, who scribble rhyme 
To catch the triflers of the time, 
And tell them truths diAdne and clear 
Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hearj 
Who labour hard to allure and draw 
The loiterers I never saw. 
Should feel that itching, and that tingling, 
With all ray pui"pose intermingling. 



599 



182 MINOR POEMS. 

To your intrinsic merit true. 

When call'd to address myself to you. 

Mysterious are His ways whose power 
Brings forth that unexpected hour. 
When minds, that never met before. 
Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 
It is the allotment of the skies. 
The hand of the Supremely Wise, 
That guides and governs our affections. 
And plans and ordei-s our connexions : 
Directs us in our distant road. 
And marks the bounds of our abode. 
Thus we were settled when you found lU^ 
Peasants and children all around us. 
Not dreaming of so dear a friend. 
Deep in the abyss of Silver-End.* 
Thus Martha, e'en against her will, 
Perch'd on the top of yonder hill ; 
And you, though you mvst needs prefer 
The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,t 
Are come from distant Loire, to choose 
A cottage on the banks of Ouse. 
This page of providence quite new. 
And now just opening to our view, 
Employs our present thoughts and pains 
To guess and spell what it contains : 
But day by day, and year by year, 
Will make the dark enigma clear ; 
And furnish us, perhaps, at last. 
Like other scenes already past. 
With proof, that we, and our afTairs, 
Are part of a Jehovah's cares : 
For God unfolds by slow degrees 
The purport of his deep decrees; 
Sheds every hour a clearer light 
In aid of our defective sight ; 
And spreads, at length, before the soul, 
A beautiful and perfect whole. 
Which busy man's inventive brain 

♦ An obscure part of Oliiey, adjoining to the residence of 
Cowner, wlilch faced the market-iiluce. 
t l.iuly Austen's resideicc in Fraiicfc. 



MINOR POEMS. ifig 

Toils to anticipate in vain. 

Say, Anna, had you never known 
The beauties of a rose full blown. 
Could you, though luminous your eye. 
By looting- on the bud, descry. 
Or guess, with a prophetic power, 
The future splendour of t^e flower ? 
Just so the Omnipotent, v/ho turns 
The system of a world's concerns. 
From mere minutiae can educe 
Events of most important use ; 
And bid a dawning sky display 
The blaze of a meridian day. 
The works of man tend, one and all, 
As needs they must, from gi-eat to small ; 
And vanity absorbs at length 
The monuments of human strentyth. 
But who can tell how vast the plan 
Which this day's incident began I 
Too small, perhaps, tlie slight occasion 
For our dim-sighted observation ; 
It pass'd ininoticed, as the bird 
That cleaves the yielding air unheard. 
And yet may prove, when understood, 
A harbinger of endless good. 

Not that I deem, or mean to call 
Friendship a blessing cheap or small : 
But merely to remark, that ours. 
Like some of nature's sweetest flowers. 
Rose from a seed of tiny size. 
That seem'd to promise no such piize ; 
A transient visit intervening-. 
And made almost without a meaning, 
(Hardly the eff"ect of inclination, 
Much less of pleasing expectation) 
Produced a friendship, then begivu. 
That has cemented us in one ; 
And placed it in our power to prove 
By long fidelity and love. 
That Solomon has wisely spoken ; 
* A threefold cord is not soon broken. 

Dec. 1781. 

2 



{^ MlNOi\ POEMS. 



THE COLUBRIAD. 



Close by the threshold of a door nail'd fast 

Three kittens sat ; each kitten look'd aghast. 

I, passing swift and inattentive by. 

At the three kittens cast a careless eye ; 

Not much concern 'd to know what they did there ; 

Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care. 

But presently a loud and furious hiss 

Caused me to stop, and to exclaim, ' What's this V 

When lo ! upon the threshold met my view. 

With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, 

A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue. 

Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws, 

Darting it full against a kitten's nose ; 

Who having never seen, in field or house. 

The like, sat still and silent as a mouse ; 

Only projecting, with attention due, 

Her whisker'd face, she ask'd him, « Who are yout 

On to the hall went I, with pace not slow, 

But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe : 

With which well arm'd I hasten'd to the spot. 

To find the viper, but I found him not. 

And turning up the leaves and shrubs around. 

Found only that he was not to be found. 

But still the kittens, sitting as before. 

Sat watching close the bottom of the door. 

' I hope,' said I, ' the villain I woiild kill 

Has slipp'd between the door and the door sill ; 

And if I make dispatch, and follow hard, 

No doubt but I shall find him in the yard :' 

For long ere now it should have been rehearsed, 

'Twas in the garden that I found him first. 

E'en there I found him, there the full gi-owTi cat 

His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat ; 

As curious as the kittens erst had been 

J'o learn what this phenomenon might n\oan. 

"•'ill'd with heroic ardour at the sight, 

Ai'd foarinsi" everv Tfiomont ho v.ould bite, 



MINOR POEMS. 185 

And rob our houseLold of cur only cat 
That was of age to combat with a rat ; 
With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the dotr. 
And taught him never to come there no hobb 

1782. 



ON FRIENDSHIP. 
Amicitja nisi inter bonoa esse non potest. 



What virtue can we name, or grace, 
But men unqualified and base 

Will boast it their possession 7 
Profusion apes the noble part 
Of liberality of heart. 

And dulness of discretion. 

But, as the gem of richest cost 
Is ever counterfeited most. 

So, always, imitation 
Employs the utmost sIdU she can 
To counterfeit the faithful man, 

The friend of long duration. 

Some will pronounce me too severe — 
But long experience speaks me clear ; 

Therefore, that censure scorning, 
I will proceed to mark the shelves 
n which so many dash themselves. 

And give the simple warning. 

Youth, unadmonish'd by a guide, 
Will trust to any fair outside ; 

An error soon con-ected ; 
For who but learns with riper years. 
That man, when smoothest he appejirs 

Is most to be suspef^ted i 

603 



Cietr». 



186 MINOR VOEMS,. 

But here again a danger lies ; 
Lest thus deluded by our eyes. 

And taking trash for treasure. 
We should, when undeceived, coucludd 
Fi-iendship imaginary good, 

A mere Utopian pleasure. 

An acquisition, rather rare^ 
Is yet no subject of despair ; 

Nor should it seem distressful 
If, either on forbidden ^ound. 
Or where it was not to be found. 

We sought it unsuccessful. 

No friendship will abide the test 
That stands on sordid interest 

And mean self-love erected ; 
Nor such as may awhile subsist 
'Twixt sensualist and sensualist 

For vicious ends connected. 

Who hopes a friend, should have a heart 
Himself well furnish'd for the part. 

And ready on occasion 
To shew the virtue that he seeks ; 
For 'tis a union that bespeaks 

A just reciprocation. 

A fretful temper will divide 

The closest knot that may be tied, 

By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; 
A temper passionate and fierce 
May suddenly your joys disperse 

At one immense explosion. 

In vain the talkative unite 
With hope of permanent delight : 

The secret just committed 
They drop through mere desire to pratej 
Forgetting its important weight, 

And by themselves outwitted. 

604 



MINOR POKAiS. 187 

How bright soe'er the prospect sceiiis, 
All thoughts of friendship are but di earns, 

If envy chance to creep in ; 
An envious man, if you succeed. 
May prove a dangerous foe indeed, 

But not a friend worth keeping. 

As envy pines at good possess'd. 
So jealousy looks forth distress'd 

On good that seems approaching ; 
And, if success his steps attend. 
Discerns a rival in a friend. 

And hates him for encroaching. 

Hence authors of illustrious name 
(Unless belied by common fame) 

Are sadly prone to quarrel ; 
To deem the vnt a friend displays 
So much of loss to their own praise. 

And pluck each other's laurel. 

A man renown'd for repartee 
Will seldom scmple to make free 

With friendship's finest feeling ; 
Will thrust a dagger at your breast, 
And tell you 'twas a special jest. 

By way of balm for healing. 

Beware of tatlers ; keep your ear 
Close stopt against the tales they bear, 

Fruits of their own invention ; 
The separation of chief friends 
Is what their kindness most intends ; 

Their sport is your dissension. 

Friendship that wantonly admits 
A joco-serious play of wits 

In brilliant altercation, 
Is union such as indicates, 
i.ike hand-in-hand insurance-plates, 

Danger of conflagration 

6Q§ 



i MlNOil POEMS. 

Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
True as the needle to the pole ; 

Yet shifting like tlie weather. 
The needle's constancy forego 
For any novelty, and show 

Its variations rather. 

Insensibility makes some 
Unseasonably deaf and dumb, 

When most you need their pity j 
'Tis waiting till the tears shall fall 
From Gog and Magog in Guildhall, 

Those playthings of the city. 

The great and small but rarely meet 
On terms of amity complete : 

The attempt would scarce be madder* 
Should any from the bottom hope. 
At one huge stride to reach the top 

Of an erected ladder. 

Courtier and patriot cannot mix 
Their heterogeneous politics 

Without an eftervescence, 
Such as of salts with lemon juice, 
But which is rarely known to induce. 

Like that, a coalescence. 

Religion should extinguish strife. 
And make a calm of human life : 

But even those, who differ 
Only on topics left at large. 
How fiercely will they meet and charge 

No combatants are stiffen 

To prove, alas! my main intent. 
Needs uo great cost of argument. 

No cutting and contriving ; 
Seeking a real friend, we seem 
To adopt the chymist's golden dream 

With sfill less hope of thriving. 

60C 



MINOR FOEMS. 18$^ 

Then judge, or ere you choose yovir man. 
As circumspectly as you can. 

And, having made election. 
See that no disrespect of yours. 
Such as a friend but ill endures. 

Enfeeble his affection. 

It is not timber, lead, and stone. 
An architect requires alone. 

To finish a great building ; 
The palace were but half complete 
Could he by any chance forget 

The carving and the gilding. 

As similarity of mind. 

Or something not to be defined. 

First rivets our attention ; 
So manners, decent and polite, 
The same we practised at first sight. 

Must save it from declension. 

The man who hails you Tom — or Jack, 
And proves by thumping on your back 

His sense of your great merit, 
Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed. 

To pardon or to bear it. 

Some friends make this their prudent plaa— 
* Say little, and hear all you can ;' 

Safe policy, but hateful. 
So barren sands imbibe the shower. 
But render neither fmit nor flower. 

Unpleasant and ungrateful. 

They whisper trivial things, and small ; 
But to communicate at all 

Things serious deem improper ; 
Their feculence and froth they show. 
But keep the best contents below. 

Just like a simmering copper. 

667 



190 MINOiJ i OEiMsS. 

These samples (for, alas ! at last 
Tliese are but samples, and a taste 

Of evils yet uuraention'd) 
May prove the task a task indeed, 
In which 'tis much if we succeed. 

However well intention'd. 

Pursue the theme, and you shall find 
A disciplined and furnish'd mind 

To be at least expedient, 
And, after summing all the rest. 
Religion ruling in the breast 

A principal ingredient. 

True friendship has, in short, a grace 
More than terrestrial in its face ; 

That proves it heaven-descended : 
Man's love of woman not so pure. 
Nor, when sincerest, so secure 

To last till life is ended. 
1783 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE, 

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED. 
TO HE MARCH IN SCIPIO. 

Toll for the brave ! 

The brave that are no more I 
All sunk beneath the wave, 

Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 

Wliose courage well was tried^. 

Had made the vessel heel. 
And laid her on her side. 

A land breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset; 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 



MINOR POEMS. 191 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought ; 
His work of glory done. 
It was not in the battle ; 

No tempest gave the shock; 
She sprang no fatal leak; 
She ran upon no rock. 
His sword was in its sheath ; 
His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 

With twice four hundred men. 
Weigh the vessel up. 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with om- cup 

The tear that England owes. 
Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again 
Pull charged with England's thunder. 

And plough the distant main. 
But Kempenfelt is gone. 

His victories are o'er; 
And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the wave no more. 

Sept. 1782. 



IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS 
REGALE NOMEN INDITUM. 

Plangimus fortes. Perigre fortes, 
Patrium propter periere littua 
Bis quat^r centum ; subitd sub alto 

JEquore mersi. 
Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat. 
Mains ad summas trepidabat undas, 
CAm levis, fnnes quatiens ad imam 

Depulit aura 



192 MINOR POEMS. 

Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam 
Fortibus vitem voluere parcaa, 
Nee sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes 
Nectere laurus, 

Magne, qui nomen, licet incanonun, 
Traditum ex multis atavis tulistl I 
At tuos olim memorabit ffivum 
Omne triuniplios. 

Non hyenas illos furibunda mersit, 
Non mari in clause scopuli latentes, 
Fissa non rimis abies, nee atrox 
Abstiilit ensis. 

NavitcC sed turn nimium jocosi 
Voce fallebant hilari laborem, 
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im- 
pleveiat lieros. 

Vos, quibiis cordi est grave opus piumque* 
Humidum ex alto spolium levate, 
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos 
Reddite amicis ! 

Hi quidem (sic dls placuit) fuere : 
Sed ratis, nondum putris, ire possit 
Rursus in bellum, Britonumque nomen 
Tollere ad astra. 



JsONG. ON PEACE. 

rHlTTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE KEQCBST 
OF LAUY AUSTEN, WHO GAVE THE SENTIMENT. 

AIB — ' MY FOND SHEPHERDS OF L.\TE.' 

No longer I follow a sound ; 

No longer a dream I pursue : 
O happiness ! not to be found, 

Unattainable treasure adieu I 



MINOR POEMS. 19S 

1 have sought thee in splendour and dress 
In the regions of pleasure and taste ; 

I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess. 
But have proved thee a vision at last. 

All humble ambition and hope 

The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 

Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope, 
And the summit of all our desires. 

Peace may be the lot of the mind 

That seeks it in meekness and love ; 

But rapture and bliss are confined 
To the glorified spirits above. 



SONG. 

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OP LADY AUSTIN. 
AIR — 'THE LASS OF PATTIE'S MILL.' 

When all within is peace 

How nature seems to smile I 
Delights that never cease 

The livelong day beguile. 
From morn to dewy eve 

With open hand she showera 
Fresh blessings, to deceive 

And soothe the silent hours. 

It is content of heart 

Gives nature power to please; 
The mind that feels no smart 

Enlivens all it sees ; 
Can make a wintry sky 

Seem bright as smiling May, 
And evening's closing eye 

As peep of early day. 

The vast majestic globe. 

So beauteously array'd 
In nature's various robe. 

With A^ondrous skill display'd, 
K 



194 MINOR POEMS. 

Is to a momnier's heart 

A dreary wild at best ; 
It flutters to depart, 
And longs to be at rest. 



VERSES SELECTED FROM AN OCCASIONAL 
POEM ENTITLED VALEDICTION. 

Oh Friendship I cordial of the human breast I 
So little felt, so fervently profess'd 1 
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years ; 
The promise of delicious fruit appears : 
We bug the hopes of constancy and truth, 
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth ; 
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake 
That sanguine inexperience loves to make ; 
And view with tears the expected harvest lost, 
Decay'd by time, or wither'd by a frost. 
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part 
Should be rencw'd in nature, pure in heart, 
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove 
A thousand ways the force of genuine love. 
He may be call'd to give up health and gain. 
To exchange content for trouble, ease for pain, 
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan. 
And wet his cheeks with soitows not his own. 
The heart of man, for such a task too frail, 
When most relied on is most sure to fail ; 
And, siimmon'd to partake its fellow's woe. 
Starts from its office like a broken bow. 

Votaries of business and of pleasure prove 
Faithless alike in fiiendship and in love. 
Retired from all the circles of the gay. 
And all the crowds that bustle life away. 
To scenes where competition, envy, strife. 
Beget no thvmder-clouds to trouble life. 
Let me, the charge of soiue good angel, find 
One who has known, and ha? escaped mankind ; 

612 



MIxNOR POEMS. fn 

Polite, yet virtuous, vvlio has brought away 
The manners, not the morals, of the day : 
With him, perhaps with her (for men have known 
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown). 
Let me enjoy, in some uuthought-of spot. 
All former friends foi-given, and forgot, 
Down to the close of life's fast-fading scene. 
Union of hearts without a Haw between. 
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise. 
If God give health, that sunshine of our daysl 
And if he add, a blessing shared by few. 
Content of heart, more praises still are due — 
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd 
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest; 
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies. 
Born from above and made divinely wise. 
He gives, what bankmpt nature never can, 
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man. 
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew, 
A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true. 
Nov. 1783. 



IN BREVITATEM VIT/E SPATII HOMINIBUS 
CONCESSI. 

IJT un. JORTIN. 

Hei mihi ! Lege rata sol occidit atque resurgit, 

Lunaque mutate reparat dispendia fomiK, 

Astraque, purpurei telis extincta diei, 

Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles telluris alumni, 

Graminis herba virens, et flonim picta propago, 

Quos cinidelis byems lethali tabe peredit. 

Cum Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni 

Teraperies anni, foecundo e cespite surgunt. 

Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et puTchra minati> 

Cum breve ver vitse robustaque ti-ansiit atas, 

Deficimus ; nee nos ordo revolubilis auras 

Rsddit in a^thereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvil. 

613 



196 MINOR POEMS. 

ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE. 

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. 

Suns that set, and moons that wane. 
Rise and are restored again ; 
Stars that orient day subdues, 
Night at her return renews. 
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth 
Of the genial womb of earth. 
Suffer but a transient death 
From the winter's cruel breath. 
Zephyr speaks ; serener skies 
Warm the glebe, and they arise. 
We, alas! earth's haughty kings. 
We, that promise mighty things. 
Losing soon life's happy prime. 
Droop, and fade, in little time. 
Spring returns, but not our bloom ; 
Still 'tis winter in tlie tomb. 



EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. 

Here Johnson lies — a sage by all allow'd, 
Whom to have bred may well make England proud, 
Wliose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, 
Tlie graceful vehicle of virtuous thought ; 
Whose verse may claim — ^grave, masculine, and stron|^ 
Superior praise to the mere poet's song ; 
Who many a noble gift from heaven possess'd, 
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. 
O man, immortal by a double prize. 
By fame on earth— by glory in the skies I 
Jan. 1785. 
614 



MINOR POEIviS. 197 



TO MISS C , ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

How mauy between east and west 

Disgrace their parent earth. 
Whose deeds constrain us to detest 

The day that gave them biitb I 
Not so when Stella's natal mom 

Revolving months restore. 
We can rejoice that she was bonif 

And wish her born once more I 



GRATITUDE. 



ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. 

This cap, that so stately appears. 

With ribbon-bound tassel on high. 
Which seems by the crest that it rears 

Ambitious of brushing the sky : 
This cap to my cousin I owe, 

She gave it, and gave me beside, 
Wreath'd into an elegant bow. 

The ribbon -with which it is tiea. 

This wheel-footed studying chair. 

Contrived both for toil and repose, 
Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair. 

In which I both scribble and dose 
Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes. 

And rival in lustre of that 
In which, or astronomy lies. 

Fair Cassiopeia sat : 

These carpets, so soft to the foot, 
Caledonia's traffic and pride ! 

Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot. 
Escaped from a cross-cnuntTy ride ! 

615 



188 MINOR POEMS. 

Ti.is table and luiiTor witliin, 

Secure from collision aiid dust, 
At which I oft shave cheek and chin. 
And periwig nicely adjust: 

This movaUe structure of shelves, 

For its beauty adnjirod anvl its use, 
And charged with octavos and twelve* 

The gayest I had to produce ; 
Where, flaming- in scarlet and gold, 

Aly poems enchanted I view, 
And hope, in dut- time, to behold 

My Iliad and Odyssey too : 

This china, that decks the alcove, 

Which here people call a boufet, 
But what the j^ods call it above 

Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet: 
These curtains, that keep the room warm 

Or cool, as the season demands, 
Those stoves that for pattern and form 

Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands : 

All these are not half that I owe 

To one, from our earliest youth 
To me ever ready to show 

Benignity, friendship, and truth ; 
For Time, the destroyer declared 

And foe of our perishing kind. 
If even her face he has spared, 

Much less could he alter her mind. 

Thus compass'd about with the goods 

And chattels of leisure and ease, 
I indulge my ])oetical moods 

In many such fancies as these ; 
And fancies I fear they will seem — 

Poets' goods are not often so fine ; 
The poets will swear that 1 dream 

When I sing of the splendour of 
1786 



All NO 11 POKMS, 100 



UNES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OP 
ASllLRV COWPKR ESQ. 

IHMEDIATKLY AITIIR II IS DICATII, HY 1118 NEPHEW 
WlLhlAU OK VVIiSTON. 

Fakkvvki.l! endued with nil that could enpapfo 
All hcartH to lovo th<!e, both in yonth and ugof 
In i>riMii' of life, for 8))ri^?hlliiiess t^nroll'd 
Amonj;- the gay, yet viituou« us the old ; 

In life'8 last statre, (O hlossinfra rarely found!) 
Pleasant as youtli wilh all its blossoniM crown'd; 
Through every period of this ehaujieful state 
Unchanjired thyself— wise, good, allectionate I 

Marhle may flatter, and lost this should acem 
O'erehavffed with praises on so dear a theme, 
Althou}i:h thy worth ))i; more than half suppreot. 
Love shall be satisiicd, and veil the rest. 
Joiii', 178B. 



ON THE QUEENS VISIT TO LONDON, 

THE NIfillT OK THR SliVKNTKKNTH OK MARCH, I7MC 

WiiKN, lonfjf Hoqnester'd from his throne, 

Geor>!:c took his seat ayfain. 
By right of worth, not blood alone, 

Entitled here to reign, 

Then loyalty, with all his lamps 

New trimin'd, a gallant showt 

Chasing th(^ darkness and the darapa. 
Set London in a glow. 



300 MINOR POEMS. 

Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares. 

Which form'd the chief display. 
These most resembling cluster'd stars, 
Those the long milky way. 

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires. 

And rockets flew, self-driven, 
To hang their momentary fires 

Amid the vault of heaven. 

So fire with water to compare. 

The ocean serves, on high 
Up-spouted by a whale in air. 

To express unwieldy joy. 

Had all the pageants of the world 

In one procession join'd. 
And all the banners been unfurl'd 

That heralds e'er design'd, 

For no such sight had England's Queen 

Forsaken her retreat, 
Where George, recover'd, made a scene 

Sweet always doubly sweet. 

Yet glad she came that night to prove, 

A >\'itness undescried, 
How much the object of her love 

Was loved by all beside. 

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er 

In aid of her design 

Darkness, O Queen I ne'er call'd before 

To veil a deed of thine ! 

On borrow'd wheels away she flies. 

Resolved to be unknown. 
And gratify no curious eyes 

That night except her own. 

Arrived, a night like noon she sees. 
And hears the million hum : 

As all by instinct, like the bees, 

Had knov/Ti their sovereign comec 

613 



MINOR POEMS. 

Pleased she beheld aloft portray'd. 
On many a splendid wall, 

Emblems of health and heavenly aid, 
And George the theme of all. 

Unlike the enigmatic line. 

So difficult to spell, 
Which shook Belshazzar at his wiH9 

The night his city fell. 

Soon watery grew her eyes and dinij 

But with a joyful tear, 
None else, except in prayer for him, 

George ever drew from her. 

It was a scene in every part 

Like those in fable feign'd, 

And seem'd hy some magician's art 
Created and sustain'd. 

But other magic there, she luiew. 

Had been exerted none. 
To raise such wonders in her view. 

Save love of George alone. 

That cordial thought her spirit cheer'd, 
And through the cumbrous throii,f; 

Not else unworthy to be fear'd, 
Convey'd her calm along. 

Bo, ancient poets say, serene 

The sea-maid rides the waves. 

And fearless of the billowy scene 
Her peaceful bosom laves. 

With more than astronomic eyes 

She view'd the sparkling show ; 

One Georgian star adorns the skies. 
She myriads found below. 

Yet let the glories of a night 

Like that, once seen, suffice. 

Heaven grant us no such futitre sight 
Such previous woe the price I 
K2 



MINOR POEMS. 



THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.* 

Mdse — hide his name of whom I sing, 
Lest his surviving- house thou bring 

For his sake into scorn, 
Nor speak the school from which he drew 
The much or little that he knew. 

Nor place where he was bom. 

That such a man once was, may seem 
Worthy of record (if the theme 

Perchance may credit win). 
For proof to man, what man may prove 
If grace depart, and demons move 

The source of guilt within. 

This man (for since the howling wild 
Disclaims him, man he must be styled) 

Wanted no good below ; 
Gentle he was, if gentle birth 
Gould make him such, and he had worth. 

If wealth can worth bestow. 



» Written on reading the followiti^ in the obituary of the 
Gentleman's Magvizine, for April, 1789. — ' At Tottt iilrahi, John 
Ardesoif, Esq.. a young man of large fortune, and in the 
svilendour of his cdrriagres and horses rivalled by few country 
gentlemen. His table was thai of hospit;ility, where, it may be 
said, he sacrificed too much to conviviality'; but, if he had lis 
foibles he had his merits also, that far oiiiweighed them. Mr. A. 
was very fond of cock-fi?iiting, and liad a favourite cock, upon 
which he had won many profitable matches. The bst bet he 
laid upon this cock he lost ; wliicli so enrtisfed him, that he had 
the bird tied to a spit and roasted alive before a larije fire. The 
screams of the miserable animal were so affectinsj, that some 
jfentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so 
enrasred Mr. A. that he seized n poker, «iid Aitn the most 
furious vehemence declared, that he would kill the first man 
who interposed ; but, in the midst of his pa^siotiute asseverations, 
he fell down dead upon the spot. Such, we are assured, were 
Ihf circunistanccs which atte.uded the dealli of this great pillai 

t huiuaaity.' 

020 



MINOR POEMS. 
In social talk and ready jest 
He shone superior at the feast, 

And qualities of mind. 
Illustrious in the eyes of those 
Whose gay society he chose, 

Possess'd of every kind. 

Methinks I see him powder'd red^ 
With hushy locks his well-dress'd head 
Wing'd broad on either side, 
J The mossy rosebud not so sweet ; 
^ His steeds superb, his carriage neat, 
As luxiu-y coiild provide. 

Can such be crr-el ? Such can be 
Cruel as hell, and so was he ; 

A tyrant entertained 
With barbarous sports, whose fell delight 
Was to encourage mortal fight 

'Twixt birds to battle train'd. 

One feather'd champion he possess'd. 
His darling far beyond the rest. 

Which never knew disgrace, 
Nor e'er had fought but he made flow 
The life-blood of his fiercest foe 

The Caesar of his race. 

It chanced at last, when on a day. 
He push'd him to the desperate fray, 

His courage droop'd, he fled. 
The master storm'd, the prize was lost* 
And, instant, frantic at the cost, 

He doom'd his favourite dead. 

He seized him fast, and from the pit 
Flew to the kitchen, snatch 'd the spit, 

And, Bring me cord, he cried ; 
The cord was brought, and, at his word, 
To that dire implement the bird. 

Alive and struggling, t>fcd. 



204 MINOR POEMS 

The horrid sequel asks a veil ; 
And all the terrors of the tale 

That can he shall be sunk — 
Led by the sufferer's screams aright 
His shock'd companions ^'iew the sights 

And him with fury drunk. 

All, suppliant, heg a milder fate 
For the old warrior at the grate : 

He, deaf to pity's call, 
Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel 
His culinary club of steel, 
Death menacing on all. 

But vengeance hung not far remote, 

For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat* 

And heaven and earth defted, 
Big with a curse too closely pent. 
That struggled vainly for a vent, 

He totter'd, reel'd, and died. 

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise. 
To point the judgment of the skies ; 

But judgments plain as this. 
That, sent for man's instruction, bring 
A written label on their wing, 

'Tis hard to read amiss. 
May, 17S9. 



TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. 

BY AN OLD SCHOOLFKLLOW OF HIS AT WESTMINSTER. 

Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind 
While young humane, conversable, and kind. 
Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then. 
Now grown a villain, and the worst of men. 
But rather some suspect, who have oppress'd 
And worried thee, as not themselves the best. 

£22 



MINOR POEMS. t05 



VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD,* 

SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT 
&FTER HIS DECEASE. 

Abut senex ! periit senex amabilis ! 

Quo non fuit jucundior. 
Lugete Tos, setas quibus maturior 

Senem colendum prasstitit, 
Seu quando, yiribus valentioribus 

Fii*moque fretus pectore, 
Florentiori vos juventute excolens 

Cura fovebat patria, 
Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus inide, 

Vultu sed usque blandulo, 
Miscere gaudebat suas facetias 

His annuls leporibus. 
Vixit probus, puraque simplex indole, 

Blandisque comis moribus, 
Et dives asqua mente — charus omnibus, 

Uniust auctus mujiere. 
Ite tituli ! meritis beatioribus 

Aptate laudes debitas ! 
Nee invidebat ille, si quibus farens 

Fortuna plus arriserat. 
Placide senex I levi quiescas cespite, 

Etsi superbum nee vivo tibi 
Dectis sit inditum, nee mortuo 

Lapis notatus nomine. 



• I make no ai)olog7 for the introduction of the following 
lines, though 1 liave never learned wlio wrote them. Th<>ir elc- 
jyance will stitficiently recommend tliem to pei-sons of classical 
taste and erudition, and I shall be happy if tlie Enirlish version 
that they have received from we be found not to dishonour Uiem. 
Affection for the meraorv of the worthy man whom they celebrate 
nlnnp nrnmnfp^l mp tn this pndeavour. 



alone prompted me to tliis endeavour. 



W. COWPER. 



t He was usher and under-master of Westminster near fifty 
years, and retired from his occupation when he was nearseven:^ 
with a handsome pension from the king. 



S06 MINOR POEMS. 



THE SAME IN ENGLISH. 

Odb good old friend is gone, gone to his rest, 
Whose social converse was, itself, a feast. 
O ye of riper age, who recollect 
How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect. 
Both in the fineness of his better day, 
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway. 
And when, impair 'd by time and glad to rest. 
Yet stiU with looks in mild complacence drest» 
He took his annual seat and mingled here 
His sprightly vein with yours — now drop a tear. 
In morals blameless as in manners meek, 
He knew no wish that he might blush to speak. 
But, happy in whatever state below, 
And richer than the rich in being so, 
Obtain'd the heaits of all, and such a meed 
At length from one,* as made him rich indeed. 
Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here. 
Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere. 
The brows of those whose more exalted lot 
He could congratulate, but envied not. 

Light lie the turf, good senior ! on thy breast. 
And tranquil as thy mind was be thy rest 1 
Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, 
And not a stone now chronicles thy name. 



TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, 

ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT Or HORACE'3 ODB, 
*AD LIBRUM SUUM.' 

Maria, could Horace have guess'd 

What honour awaited his ode 
To his own little volume address'd. 

The honour which you have bestow'd ; 

• See tlie note in the Latin copy. 



MINOR POEMS. 20? 

Who have traced it in characters here. 

So elegant, even, and neat, 
He had laugh'd at the critical sneer 

Which he seems to have trembled to meet. 

And sneer, if you please, he had said, 

A nymph shall hereafter arise 
Who shall give me, when you are all dead. 

The glory your malice denies ; 
Shall dignity give to my lay. 

Although but a mere bagatelle ; 
And even a poet shall say. 

Nothing ever was written so well. 
Feb. 1790. 



TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE 
HALIBUT, 

(h* WHICH I DINED THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784. 

Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued 

Tliy pastime I when wast thou an egg new spawn'd, 

Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste ? 

Roar as they might, the overbearing winds 

That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe — 

And in thy minikin and embry-o state, 

Attach'd to the finn leaf of some salt weed. 

Didst outlive tempests, such as wnmg and rack'd 

The joints of many a stout and gallant bark. 

And whelm 'd them in the unexplored abyss 

Indebted to no magnet and no chart. 

Nor under guidance of the polar fire, 

Thou wast a voyager on many coasts. 

Grazing at large in meadows submarine. 

Where flat Batavia just emerging peeps 

Above the brine — where Caledonia's rocks 

Beat back the surge — and where Kibemia shoots 

Her wondrous causeway far into the main. 



208 MIISOU I'OEMS. 

—Wherever ttou hast fed, t)iou little thought'st. 

And I not more, that I should feed on thee. 

Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish, 

To him who sent thee ! and success, as oft 

As it descends into the billow'y gulf, 

To the same drag that caught thee ! — Fare thee well ! 

Thy lot thy brethren of the slimy fin 

Would enry, could they know that thou wast aoom'd 

To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE 

BSECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHIl* 
LINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFAKD, ESQ., 1790. 

Other stones the era tell 
When some feeble mortal fell ; 
I stand here to date the birth 
Of these hardy sons of earth. 

Which shall longest brave the sky, 
Storm and frost— these oaks or 1 1 
Pass an age or two away, 
I must moulder and decay, 
But the years that crumble me 
Shall invigorate the tree. 
Spread its branch, dilate its size. 
Lift its summit to the skies. 

Cherish honour, virtue, truth. 
So shalt thou prolong thy youth : 
Wanting these, however fast 
Man be fix'd and form'd to last, 
He is lifeless even now. 
Stone at heart, and cannot grow. 

lone, I79Q. 



MINOR POEMS. 



ANOTHER, 



For a Etone erected on a similar occasion at the same plw:e 
in the following j'ear. 

Reader I behold a monument 

That asks no sigh or tear, 
Though it perpetuate the event 
Of a great burial here. 
Anno 1791. 



TO MRS. KING, 



On her kind present to the author, a patchwork counterpane 
of her own making. 

The bard, if e'er he feel at all, 
Must sure be quicken 'd by a call 

Both on his heart and head, 
To pay with tuneful thanks the care 
And kindness of a lady fair 

Who deigns to deck his bed. 

A bed like this, in ancient time. 
On Ida's barren top sublime, 

(As Homer's epic shows) 
Composed of sweetest vernal flowers, 
Without the aid of sun or showers, 

For Jove and Juno rose. 

Less beautiful, however gay. 

Is that which in the scorching day 

Receives the weary swain, 
Who, laj-ing his long scythe aside, 
Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied> 

TiU roused to toil again. 
What labours of the loom I see I 
Looms numberless have groan'd for me! 

Should every maiden conae 
To scramble for the patch that bears 
ITie impress of tlie robe she wears. 

The bell would toll for some. 



210 MINOR POEMS. 

And oh, wliat havoc v/ould ensue J 
This bright display of every hue 

All iu a moment lied ! 
As if a stoi-m should strip the bowers 
Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flower*- 

Each pccketin;^ a shred. 

Thanks then to every gentle fair 
Who will not come to peck me bare 

As bird of borrow'd feather. 
And thanks to one above them all, 
The gentle fair of Pertenhall. 

Who put the whole together. 
Au^<;t, 1790. 



TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM OF HOMER.* 

Pat me my price, potters ! and I will sing. 

Attend, O Pallas ! and with lifted arm 

Protect their oven ; let the cups and all 

The sacred vessels blacken well, and, baked 

With good success, yield them both fair renown 

And profit, whether in the market sold 

Or streets, and let no sti-ife ensue between us. 

But, oh ye potters ! if with shameless front 

Ye falsify your promise, then I leave 

No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong. 

Come, Synitrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come, 

And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread, 

Omodamus, delay ! Fire seize your house. 

May neither house nor vestibule escape. 

May ye lament to see confusion mar 

And mingle the whole labour of your hands 

* No title is prefixed to this piece, but it appears to be a tran»- 
lation of one of llie ETTiypajU/xara of Homer railed 'O 
Kft,Uli'OC, or the Furnace. Herodotus, or whoever was the 
Author of the Life of Homer qscrihed to him, ohsenes, ' certain 
witters, while Ihcy were busied in balciii!? their ware, seeing 
Homer at a small distance, and havinsr heard much said of his 
wisdom, called to him, and promised him a present of their «oni- 
modiiy and of such other things as they could afford, if he would 
ring to them — when he sang as follows.' 



MINOR POEMS. 2li 

And may a sound fill all your oven, such 
As of a horse grinding his provender, 
While aU your pots and flagons hounce within. 
Come hither also, daughter of the sun, 
Circe the sorceress, and with thy drugs 
Poison themselves, and all that they have made ' 
Come also, Chiron, with thy numerous troop 
Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath 
The club of Hercules, as who escaped. 
And stamp their crockery to dust ; iovn\ fall 
Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes 
And howl to see the ruin of their art, 
While I rejoice ; and if a potter stoop 
To peep into his furnace, may the fire 
Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men 
Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith. 
Oct. 1790. 



IX MEMORY OF 
THE LATE JOHN THORNTON, ESQ. 

Poets attempt the noblest task they can, 
Praising the Author of all good in man, 
And, next, commemorating worthies lost, 
The dead in whom that good abounded most. 

Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, hut more 
Famed for thy probity from shore to shore, 
Thee, Thornton ! worthy in some page to shine, 
As honest and more eloquent than mine, 
I mourn ; or, .since thrice happy thou must be, 
The world, no longer thy abode, not thee. 
Thee to deplore were grief misspent indeed; 
It -were to Aveep that goodness has its meed. 
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, 
And glory for the virtuous when they die. 

What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard, 
Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford 
Sweet as the privilege of healing woe 
By virtue suffer 'd combating below 



212 MINOR POEMS. 

That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means 

To illumine with delight the saddest scenes, 

Fill thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn 

As midnight, and despairing of a morn. 

Thou hadst an industry in doing good, 

Restless as his who toils and sweats for food ; 

Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth 

By rust unperishable or by stealth, 

And if the genuine worth of gold depend 

On application to its noblest end. 

Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven 

Surpassing all that mine or mint had given. 

And, though God made thee of a nature prone 

To distribution boundless of thy ovm, 

And still by motives of religious force 

Impell'd thee more to that heroic course. 

Yet was thy liberality discreet, 

N^ice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat; 

And though in act unwearied, secret still. 

As in some solitude the stunmer rill 

Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, 

And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unse n 

Such was thy charity ; no sudden start. 
After long sleep, of passion in the heart. 
But steadfast principle, and, in its kind. 
Of close relation to the Eternal Mind, 
Traced easily to its true source above, 
To Him whose works bespeak his nature, love. 

Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make 
This record of thee for the Gospel's sake ; 
That the incredulous themselves may see 
Its use and power exemplitied in thee. 
Nov. 1790. 



THE FOUR AGES. 

(a brief fragment of an extensive projected poew.) 

*I COULD be well content, allow'd the use 
Of past experience, and tlie wisdom glean'd 
F^om worn-out 'ollies, now acknowledged such. 



MINOR POEMS. as 

To recommence life's trial, in the hope 
Of fewer errors, on a second proof!' 

Thus, while gray evening liiJl'd the wind, and call'd 
Fresh odours from the shrubbery at my side. 
Taking my lonely winding walk, I mused. 
And held accustom'd conference with my heart; 
When from within it thus a voice replied : [length 

< Couldst thou in truth ? and art thou taught at 
This wisdom, and but this, from all the past? 
Is not the pardon of thy long ai'rear, 
Time wasted, violated laws, abuse 
Of talents, judgment, mercies, better far 
Than opportunity, vouchsafed to err 
With less excuse, and, haply, worse effect?' 

I heard, and acquiesced : then to and fro 
Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck. 
My gravelly bounds, from self to human kind 
I pass'd, and next consider'd — what is man. 

Knows he his origin ? can he ascend 
By reminiscence to his earliest date ? 
Slept he in Adam ? And in those from him 
Through nimierous generations, till he found 
At length his destined moment to be bom I 
Or was he not, till fashion'd in the womb ? [toil'd 
Deep mysteries both ! which schoolmen must have 
To unriddle, and have left them mysteries still. 

It is an evil incident to man. 
And of the worst, that unexplored he leaves 
Truths useful and attainable with ease. 
To search forbidden deeps, where mystery lies 
Not to be solved, and useless if it might. 
Mysteries are food for angels ; they digest 
With ease, and find them nutriment; but man. 
While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean 
His manna from the ground, or starve and die 

May, 1791. 



031 



214 MINOR POEMS. 



THE RETIRED CAT.* 

A poet's cat sedate and grave. 

As poet well could wish to have, 

Was much addicted to inquire 

For nooks to which .«he might retire, 

And where, secui-e as mouse in chink. 

She might repose, or sit and think. 

I know not where she caught the trick- 
Nature perhaps herself had cast her 

In such a mould pliilosophique, 
Or else she leam'd it of her master. 

Sometimes ascending, debonnair. 

An apple ti-ee, or lofty pear, 

Lodged with convenience in the fork. 

She watch'd the gardener at his work; 

Sometimes her ease and solace sought 

In an old empty watering pot : 

There, wanting nothing save a fan, 

To seem some nymph in her sedan 

Apparell'd in exactest sort. 

And ready to be borne to court. 

But love of change, it seems, has place 

Not only in our wiser race. 

Cats also feel, as well as we. 

That passion's force, and so did she. 

Her climbing, she began to find. 

Exposed her too much to the wind, 

* Cowper's partialis' to animals is well known. Lady Hesketh, 
in one of her letters', states, ' that he had, at one time, five 
rabbits, three hares, two guinea-pigs, a magpie, a jay, and b 
starling; besiiles two goldfinches, two canary birds, and two 
dogs. It is a.iiazing how the three hares can find room to 
gambol and frolic (as they certainly do) in his small parlour ;' 
and adds, ' I forgot to enumerate a s'juirrel, which he had at 
the same time, and which used to play with one of the hares 
continually. One evening the cat giving one of the hares a 
sound box on the ear, thi' hare ran After her, and having caught 
her, punished her by drumming on her back with her two feet, 
ss hard as diunisticks, till the creature would have actually been 
Utied, had not Mri Unwin rescued her.' 

632 



MINOR POEMS. 215 

And the old utensil of tin 
Was cold aud comfortless within : 
She therefore wish'd instead of those 
Some place of more serene repose. 
Where neither cold might come, nor air 

Too rudely wanton with her hair. 

And sou-ht it in the likeliest mode 

Within her master's snug- atK>de. 
A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 

With linen of the softest kind, 

With such as merchants hitroduce 

From India, for the ladies' use, 

A drawer impending- o'er the rest, 

Half open in the topmost chest. 

Of depth enough, and none to spare. 

Invited her to slumber there ; 

Puss with delight beyond expression 

Survey'd the scene, and took possession. 

Recumbent at her ease, ere long, 

And lull'd by her own humdrum song-. 

She left the cares of life behind, 
And slept as she would sleep her last. 

When in came, housewifely inclined, 
The chambermaid, and shut it fast; 

By no maligiiity imptll'd, 

But aU unconscious whom it held. 
Awaken'd by the shook— cried Puss, 

* Was ever cat attended thus? 

The open drawer was left, I see. 

Merely to prove a nest for me. 

For soon as I was well composed. 

Then came the maid, and it was closed. 

How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how 

what a dq^icate retreat I 

1 will resign myself to rest 
Till Sol, declining in the west. 
Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 
Susan will come and let me out.' 

The evening came, the siui descended. 
And Puss remain 'd still unattended. 
The night roll'd tardily away 
(With her indeed 'twas never day), 
2 S 



216 MINOR PUEMS. 

The sprightly mora her course renew'd, 
The evening' gray again ensued, 
And Puss came into mind no more 
Than if entombd the day before. 
With hunger piuch'd, and pinch'd for room. 
She now presaf.ved approaching- doom. 
Nor slept a single mnk, or pun''d, 
Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd. 

That night, by chance, the poet watching. 
Heard an inexplicable scratching; 
His noble heart went pit-a-pat, 
And to himself he said — ' What's tnat?" 
He drew the curtain at his side, 
And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied 
Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd 
Something imprison'd in the chest. 
And, doubtful what, with prudent care 
Resolved it should continue there. 
At length a voice which well he knew, 
A long- and melancholy mew. 
Saluting- his poetic ears, 
Consoled him aud dispell'd his fears : 
He left his bed, he trod the floor, 
He "gan in haste the drawers explore, 
The lowest first, and without stop 
The rest in order to the top. 
For 'tis a truth well kno^vn to most. 
That -^vhatsoever thing is lost. 
We seek it, ere it come to light. 
In evei-y cranny but the right. 
Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete 
Aa erst with airy self-conceit, 
Nor in her o-wn fond apprehension 
A theme for all the world's attention 
But modest, sober, cured of ail 
Her notions hyperbolical, 
Aiid wishing for a place of rest. 
Any thing rather than a chest. 
Then stepp'd the poet into bed 
With this reflection in his head. 



MINOR POEMS. 217 



Beware of too sublime a sense 
Of your own worth and consequence : 
The man who dreams himself so great* 
And his importance of such weight. 
That all around, in all that's done. 
Must move and act for him alone, 
WiU learn in school of tribulation 
The folly of his expectation. 



THE JUDGMENT OF THE P0ET8, 

Two nymphs, both nearly of an age. 
Of numerous charms possess'd, 

A warm dispute once chanced to wage, 
Whose temper was the best. 

The worth of each had been complete 

Had both alike been mild : 
But one, although her smile was sweet, 

Frown'd oftener than she smUed. 

And in her humour, when she frown'd, 
Would raise her voice, and roar. 

And shake with fury to the ground 
The garland that she wore. 

The other was of gentler cast. 
From all such frenzy clear, 

Her froTR^ns were seldom known to last. 
And never proved severe. 

To poets of reno\vn in song 

The nymphs referr d the cause. 
Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong. 
And gave misplaced applause. 
L 

G35 



218 MINOR FOEi\I>s. 

They gentle cail'd, and kind and soft, 
The flippant and the scold, 

And though she changed her mood so oltj 
That failing left untold. 

No judges, sure, were e'er so mad. 

Or so resolved to err — 
In short, the charms her sister had 

They lavish'd all on her. 

Then thus the God whom fondly they 

Their great inspirer call, 
Was heard, one genial summer's day. 

To reprimand them all. 

« Since thus ye have combined,' he said, 
' My favourite nymph to slight, 

Adoruing^ May, that peevish maid. 
With June's undoubted right, 

* The minx shall, for your folly's sake, 
StiU prove herself a shrew. 

Shall make your scribbling fingers ache. 
And pinch your noses blue.' 
May, 1791. 



YARDLEY OAK. 



Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all 

That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth 

(Since which I number threescore winters past), 

A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps. 

As now, and with excoriate forks defonn 

Kelics of ages 1 could a mind, imbued 

With truth from heaven, created thing adore, 

I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee 

It seems idolatry with some excuse. 
When our forefather druids in tlieir oaks 
Imagined sanctity. The c mscience, yet 



MINOR POEMS. 2tx9 

Unpxirified by an authentic act 
Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine, 
Loved not the light, bnt, g-loomy, into gloom 
Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste 
Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. 

Thou wast a bauble once, a cup and ball 
Which babes might play with ; and the thievish jay, 
Seeking her food, with ease might have purloiu'd 
The aubura nut that held thee, swallowing down 
Thy yet close folded latitude of boughs 
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp. 
But fate thy growth decreed ; autumnal rains 
Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil 
Design'd thy cradle ; and a skipping deer. 
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared 
The soft receptacle, in which, secure. 
Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through. 

So fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can. 
Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search 
Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, 
Sifts half the pleasures of short life away I 

Thou fell'st mature ; and, in the loamy clod 
Swelling with vegetative force instinct, 
Didst bum thine egg, as theirs the fabled twins. 
Now stars; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact; 
A leaf succeeded, and another leaf. 
And, all the elements thy puny growth 
Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig-. 

Who lived when thou wast such i Oh, couldst thou 
As In Dodona once thy kindred trees [speak, 

Oracular, I would not curious ask 
The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth 
Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. 

By thee I might correct, en-oneous oft. 
The clock of history, facts and events 
Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts 

Recovering, and misstated setting right 

Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again ' 

Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods; 
And time hath made thee what thou art — a cave 
For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs 
O'erhung the champaign ; aiul the numerous flocks 

1)37 



220 MINOR POEMS. 

That grazed it stood beneath that ample cope 
Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the stoi-m. 
No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlined 
Thy popularity, and art become 
(Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing 
Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. 

While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd 
Of treeship — ^first a seedling, hid in grass ; 
Then twig ; then sapling ; and, as century roU'a 
Slow after centriry, a giant hulk 
Of girth enormous, with nioss-cushion'd root 
Upheaved above the soil, and sides enihoss'd 
With prominent wens globose — till at the last 
The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict 
On other mighty ones, found also thee. 

What exhibitions various hath the world 
Witness'd of mutability in all 
That we account most durable below ! 
Change is the diet on which all subsist. 
Created changeable, and change at last 
Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat 
Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam 
Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds — 
Calm and alternate storm, moisture, and drought. 
Invigorate by turns the springs of life 
In all that live, plant, animal, and man. 
And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, 
Fine passing thought, e'en in their coarsest worlw, 
Delight in agitation, yet sustain 
The force that agitates not unimpair'd ; 
But worn by frequent impulse, tc the cause 
Of their best tone their dissolution owe. 

Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still 
The great and little of thy lot, thy gro^^'th 
From almost nullity into a state 
Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, 
Slow, into such magnificent decay. 
Time was when, settling on thy leaf, a fly 
Could shake thee to the root — and time has been 
When tempests could not. At thy firmest age 
Thou hadst v/ithin thy bole solid contents 
That might have ribb'd the sides and pl.mk'd the deck 

638 



MINOR POEMS 221 

Of some flagg'd admiral ; and tortnous arms, 
The shipwriglits darling treasure, didst present 
To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, 
Warp'd into tough knee-timber, many a load!* 
But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier day^ 
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply 
The bottomless demands of contest Avaged 
For senatorial honours. Thus to time 
The task was left to whittle thee away 
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, 
Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more. 
Disjoining from the rest, has, iinobserved, 
Achieved a labour which had, far and wide, 
By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. 

Embowel'd now, and of thy ancient self 
Possessing nought but the scoop'd rind that seems 
A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink, 
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root. 
Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidst 
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. 
Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, 
A quan'y of stout spurs and knotted fangs. 
Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp 
The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. 

So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet 
Fails not, in A-irtue and in wisdom laid. 
Though all the superstructure, by the tooth 
Pulverized of venality, a shell 
Stands now, and semblance only of itself! [off 

'i'hine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them 
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild 
With bow and shaft hav e burnt them. Some have left 
A splinter'd stump bleach'd to a snowy white ; 
And some memorial none where once they grew. 
Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth 
Proof not contemptible of what she can, 
Even where death predominates. Tlie spring 
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force 



* Knee-timber Is found in the crooked amis of oak, which, b\ 

refuson of their distortion, are easily adjusted to the angle formed 
where the deck and the ship's sides meet. 



in •.ills oil POEMS. 

Than yonder upstarts of the neif^hbouring wood» 
So much thy juniors, who their hirth received 
Half a millennium since the date of thine. 

But since, although well qualified by age 
Vo teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice 
Ma3' be expected from thee, seated here 
On thy distorted root, with hearers none, 
Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform 
Myself the oracle, and will discourse 
In my own ear such matter as I may. 

One man alone, the father of us all. 
Drew not his life from woman ; never gazed. 
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw, 
On all around him ; leam'd not by degrees. 
Nor owed articulation to his ear; 
But, moulded by his Maker into man 
At once, npstood intelligent, survey'd 
All creatures, with precision understood 
Their purport, uses, properties, assig-n'd 
To each his name significant, and, fill'd 
With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaven 
In praise harmonious the first air he drew. 
He was excused the penalties of dull 
Minority. No tutor charged his hand 
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind 
With problems. History, not wanted yet, 
Leau'd on her elbow, watching time, whose course^ 
Eventful, should supply her with a theme ; . . . . 
1791. 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE, 

vaiCH THK AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NliW YEAR'3 DAY 

Whence is it that, amazed, I hear 

From yonder wither'd spray. 
This foremost mom of nl! the vvar; 

The T<v>l.>:lv of Mi; ? 

640 



MINOR POEMS. 223 

And why, since thousands would be proud 

Of such a favour shown. 
Am I selected from the crowd 

To witness it alone ? 

Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me. 

For that I also long 
Have practised in the groves like thee 

Though not like thee in song ? 

Or sing'st thou, rather, under force 

Of some divine command, 
Commission'd to presage a course 

Of happier days at hand 1 

Thrice welcome then ! for many a long 

And joyless year have I, 
As thou to-day, put forth my song 

Beneath a wintry sky. 

But thee no wintry skies can harm, 

Who only need'st to sing 
To make e'en January charm. 

And every season spring. 
1792. 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 

IT MISS FATTY MORE'S, SISTER OF HANNAH HOBK. 

In vain to live from age to age 
While modern bards endeavour, 

I write ray name in Patty's page. 
And gain my point for ever 

W. CowPtJU 
March 6, 1792. 



22-1 MINOR POEMS. 



SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. 

Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, 
Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd 
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose the inthral'd 

From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain. 
Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd. 

Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain. 

Thou hast achieved a part ; hast gain'd the ear 
Of Britain's senate to thy glorious causej [pause 
Hope smiles, joy springs, and, though cf)ld caution 
And weave delay, the better hour is near 
That shall remunerate thy toils severe 
By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. 

Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love 
From all the just on earth, and all the blest abi 9 
April 16, 1792. 



EPIGRAM 

PRINTED IN THE NORTHAMPTON MERCURY. 

To purify their wine some people bleed 

A lamb into the barrel, and succeed ; 

No nostrum, planters say, is half so good 

To make fine sugar as a negro's blood. 

Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things. 

And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs, 

Tis in the blood of innocence alone — 

Good cause why planters never tiy their own. 



TO DR. AUSTIN, OF CECIL STREET, LONDON, 

AcsTiN ! accept a grateful verse from me. 
The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee. 
Loved by the muses, thy ingenuous mind 
Pleasing requital in my verse nsay find 

642 



MINOR POEMS. 225 

Verse oft has dash'd the scythe of time aside, 
Immortalizing luimes which else had died : 
And 1 could I command the glittering wealth 
With »\'hich sick kings are glad to purchase health ! 
Yet, ii extensive fame, and sure to live. 
Were in the power of verse like mine to give, 
I would not recompense his art with less, 
Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. 

Friend of ray friend I * I love thee, tho' unknowH, 
And boldly call thee, being his, my own. 
May 26, 1792. 



CATHARINA: 

THE SECOHD part: ON HER MARRIAGB TO GKOHOB 

COURTENAY, ESQ. 

Believe it or not, as you choose. 

The doctrine is certainly true. 
That the future is known to the muse, 

An.l poets are oracles too. 
1 did but express a desire 

To see Catliarina at home, 
At the side of my friend George's fire. 

And lo — she is actually come. 

Such prophecy some may despise. 

But the wish of a poet and friend 
Perhaps is approved in the skies. 

And therefore attains to its end. 
Twas a wish tliat rtew ardently forth 

From a bosom eilectually wai-m'd 
With the talents, the gi-aces, and worth 

Of the person for whom it was form'd* 

Maria t would leave us, I knew. 
To the gTief and regret of us all. 

But less to our grief, could we view 
Catharina the Queen of the Hall. 



• Havlev. t Lady Throckmorton. 

L2 

643 



6 MINOR POEMS. 

And therefore I wisb'd as I did. 
And therefore this union of hands 

Not a whisper was heard to forbid, 
But all cry — Amen — to the bans. 

Since, therefore, I seem to incur 

No danger of wishing in vain 
When making: good wishes for her, 

I will e'en to my wishes again — 
With one I have made her a wife. 

And now I will try with another. 
Which I cannot suppress for my life — ■ 

How soon I can make her a mother. 

June, 1792. 



EPITAPH ON FOP, 

A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON. 

Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name. 

Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim 

No sycophant, although of spaniel race, 

And though no hound, a martyr to the chase — 

Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice. 

Your haunts no longer echo to his voice i 

This record of his fate exulting view. 

He died worn out with vain pursuit of you. 

• Yes,' — the indignant shade of Fop replies — 
•And worn with vain pursuit man also (ides.* 

August, 1799. 



MINDU POEMS. 227 



SONNET 



TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. 

On his Picture of me in Crayons, drawn at Eartliani In the 
61st year of my age, and in tne months of August and 
Septumber, 1792. 

RoMNEY, expert infallibly to trace 

On chart or canvas, not the form alone 
And semblance, but, however faintly shown, 

The mind's impression too on every face — 

With strokes that time ought never to erase 
Tt ou hast so pencil'd mine, that though I <>wn 
The subject worthless, I have never known 

The artist shining with superior grace. 

But this I mark — that symptoms none of woe 

In thy incomparable work appear. 
Well — I am satisfted it should be so. 

Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear ; 

For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see 
When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee 1 

October, 1792. 



MARY AND JOHN. 

If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 

'Tis a rery good match between Mary and John. 

Should John wed a score, Oh, the claws and the 

scratches I 
It can't be a match : — 'tis a bundle of matches. 



228 MINOR POEMS 

EPITAPH 

ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY. 

Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man lies 
Till all who knew him follow to the skies. 
Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep ; 
Him wife, friends, brothers, children, serv' ants, weep— 
And justly — few shall ever him transcend 
As husband, parent, brother, master, friend. 
April, 1793. 



TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM, 

ON BECEiriNG FROM HKR A NETWORK PURSE, MADB 
BY HERSELF. 

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore. 
When I was young, and thou no more 

Than plaything for a nurse, 
I danced and fondled on my knee 
A kitten both in size and glee, 

I thank thee for my purse. 

Gold pays the worth of all things bete ; 
But not of love ; — that gem's too dear 

For richest rogues to win it ; 
I, therefore, as a proof of love, 
Esteem thy present far above 

The best things kept within it. 
May 4, 1793. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE 
AUTHOR'S GARDEN. 

This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, 
Built as it has been in our waning years, 
A rest afforded to our weary feet. 
Preliminary to — the last retreat- 
May, 1793. 



MINOR POEMS. 



TO MRS. TINWIN. 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other stiings, [drew. 

Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
And undebased by praise of meaner things, 
That, ere through age or woe I shed my wiags, 

I may record thy worth with honour due. 

In verse as musical as thou art true, 
And that immortalizes whom it sings. 
But thou hast little need. l'*here is a book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 

A chronicle of actions just and bright ; 
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, 
And, since thou own'st that pi-aise, I spare thee mine. 
May, 1793. 



TO JOHN JOHNSON, 

ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUSf Of 
HOMER. 

Kinsman beloved, and as a son, by me ! 
When I behold this fruit of thy regard. 
The sculptured form of my old favourite bard, 

I reverence feel for him, and love for thee. 

Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should be 
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward 
With some applause my bold attempt and hard. 

Which others scorn ; critics by courtesy. 

The grief is this, that, sunk in Homer's mine, 
I lose my precious years, now soon to fail 

Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine. 

Proves dross when balanced in the Christian scale. 

Be wiser thou — like our forefather Donne, 

Seek heavenly wealth and work for God alone. 
May, 179;i, 



230 MINOR POEMS. 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 

ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET WHKN NO 
RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE. 

I F Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he foimd, 
While Bioisture Doue refresh'd the herbs around, 
Might fitly represent the church endow'd 
With heavenly gifts to heathens not aliow'a ; 
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, 
Thy locks were wet wlien others' locks were dry. 
Heaven grant us half the omen — may we see 
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee ! 

May, 1798. 



A TALE.* 

In Scotland's realms, where ti-ees are few, 

Nor even shrubs aboiuid ; 
But where, however bleak the view. 

Some better things are found : 

For husband there and wife may boast 

Their union undefiled. 
And false ones are as rare almost 

As hedge rows in the wild. 



* This tale f? founded on an article which appeared in the 
Buckiiia-hamshire Henild, for Sntiirday, .liine 1, 1793 :—' Glas- 
gow. May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of 
a gaotrt, now Ijr.n? at the Brooniielaw, tliere is a chaffinch's nest 
and four e^srs. The nest wiis built while the vessel lay at 
Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Ttiouah tlie 
block is occasionally lowered for the' inspection of the curious, 
the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits 
the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she 
descend to the hull for food.' 



MINOR POEMS. 
In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare. 

The history chanced of late — 
This history of a wedded pair, 

A chaffinch and bis mate. 

The spring drew near, each felt a breast 

With genial instinct fiU'd ; 
They pair'd, and would have built a nest. 

But found not where to build. 

The heaths uncover'd and the moors 
Except with snow and sleet. 

Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores 
Could yield them no retreat. 

Long time a breeding place they saugbti 
Till both grew vex'd and tired ; 

At length a ship arriving brought 
The good so long desired. 

A ship ? — could such a restless thing 

Afford them place of rest ? 
Or was the merchant charged to bring 

The homeless birds a nest? 

Hush — silent hearers profit most— 

This racer of the sea 
Proved kinder to them than the coast — 

It served them with a tree. 

But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal. 
The tree they call'd a mast, 

And had a hollow with a wheel 

Through which the tackle pass'd. 

Within that cavity aloft 

Their roofless home they fix'd, 
Porm'd with materials neat and soft. 

Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd. 

l?our ivory eggs soon pave its floor 
With russet specks bedight — 

The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore. 
And lessens to the sight. 

2T R4Q 



t MINOR POEMS. 

The mother-bird is gone to sea, 
As she had changed her kind ; 

But goes the male ? Far wiser, he 
Is doubtless left behind. 

No — soon as from the shore he s&vt 
The winged mansion move. 

He flew to reach it, by a law 
Of never-failing love ; 

Then perching at his consort's side* 
Was briskly borne along. 

The billows and the blast defied. 
And cheer'd her with a song. 

The seaman with sincere delight 
His feather'd shipmates eyes. 

Scarce less exulting in the sight 
Than when he tows a prize. 

For seamen much believe in signs 
And from a chance so new 

Each some approaching good divine*. 
And may his hopes be true I 

Hail, honour'd land I a desert where 
Not even birds can hide, 

Yet parent of this loving pair 
Whom nothing could divide. 

And ye who, rather than resign 

Your matrimonial plan. 
Were not afraid to plough the brine 

In company with man. 

For whose lean country much disdaia 
We English often show. 

Yet from a richer nothing gain 
But wantonness and woe. 

Be it your fortune, year by year. 
The same resource to prove. 

And may ye, sometimes landings bere* 
Instruct us how to love I 
iuue, 1793. 



e.'i.i 



MINOR POEMS. 233 

ON A SrANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING 
A YOUNG BIRD. 

A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you. 

Well fed, and at his ease. 
Should wiser be than to pursue 

Each trifle that he sees. 

But you have kill'd a tiny bird. 
Which flew not till to-day, 
- Against my orders, whom you heard 
Forbidding you the prey. 

Nor did you kill that you might eat 

And ease a doggish pain, 
For him, though chased with furious heat, 

You left where he was slain. 

Nor was he of the thievish sort 

Or one whom blood allures, 
But innocent was all his sport 

Whom you have torn for yours 

My dog ! what remedy remains. 

Since, teach you all I can, 
I see you, after all my pains. 

So much resemble man 1 
?uly 15, 1793. 



BEAU'S REPLY. 



Sir, when I flew to seize the bird 
In spite of your command, 

A louder voice than yours I heard. 
And harder to withstand. 

You cried — Forbear — but in my breast 
A mif-'htier cried— Proceed — 

Twas nature, Sir, M'hose strong behest 
Impell'd me to the deed. 

651 



2M .MINOR rOEMb. 

Yet. much as nature I respect, 
I veutured once to break 

(As you perhaps may recollect) 
Her precept for your sake ; 

And when your linnet on a day. 
Passing his prison door, 

Had flutter'd all his strength away. 
And panting press'd the floor. 

Wen knowing him a sacred thing. 
Not destined to my tooth, 

I only kiss'd his ruffled %ving. 

And lick'd the feathers smooth. 

Let my obedience then excuse 
My disobedience now. 

Nor some reproof yourself refuse 
From your aggrieved bow-wow : 

If killing birds be such a crime 
fWhich I can hardly see) 

What think you, Sir, of killing time 
With verse address'd to me ! 



TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. 

Dear architect of fine chateaux in air. 
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could. 
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood. 

For back of royal elephant to bear! 

O for permission from the skies to share, 
Much to my own, though kittle to thy good. 
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !) 

A partnership of literary ware ! 

But I am bankrupt now; and doora'd hencefortli 
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays ; 

Bards, I acknowledge, of unequal'd birth ! 
But what his commentators' happiest praise ? 

That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, 
Which thev who need their use, and then despise 
June 29, 1793. 

C52 



MINOR I'OEMS. 236 



ANSWER 



foStantas addressed to Lady Heskeih, by Bliss Catharine Fan'ihawfs, 
in returning; a Poem of B'Ir. Cowper's, lent to her, on couditioi 
•he should neitiier show it, nor take a Copy. 

To be remember'd thus is fame, 

And in the first degree ; 
And did the few like her the same. 

The press might sleep for me. 

So Homer, in the memory stored 

Of many a Grecian belle, 
Was once preserved — a richer hoard. 

But never lodged so well. 



ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. 

The suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse, 
Whom all this elegance might well seduce; 
Nor can our censure on the husband fall. 
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. 
September, 1793. 



TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA, 

On his translaUni; tlie Author's Song on a Rose into 
Italian Verse. 

Mt rose, Gravina, blooms anew. 
And, steep'd not now in rain. 

But in Castalian streams by you. 
Will never fade again. 
17B3. 



f.53 



MINOR POEMS. 



TO MARY 



The twentieth year is well nigh past 
Since first our sky was OTercast ; 
Ah would that this might be the last I 

My Mary I 

Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 

I see thee daily weaker grow 

'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 

My Mary* 

Thy needles, once a shining store. 
For my sake restless heretofore. 
Now rust disused, and shine no more ; 

My Mary I 

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 

My Mary! 

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part. 
And all thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart. 

My Mary I 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 

Like language utter'd in a dream ; 

Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 

My Mary! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright. 
Are stiU more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light. 

My Mary I 

For, could I view nor them nor thee. 
What sight worth seeing could I see 1 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 

My Mary! 

Partakers of thy sad decline. 

Thy hands their little force resign ; 

Yet gently press'd, press gently mine, 

My Mary! 

054 



MINOR POEMS. 231 

Such feebleness of limbs thou provest. 
That now at every step thou tnovest 
Upheld by tvvo ; yet still thou lovest. 

My Mary 

And still to love, though press'd with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still. 

My Mary! 

But ah I by constant heed I know. 
How oft the sadness that 1 show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe. 

My Mary! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past. 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last. 

My Mary! 
Autunui of 1793. 



MONTES GLACIALES, IN OCEANO GERMA 
NICO NATANTES. 

Eh, quae prodigia, ex oris allata, remotis, 
Oras adveniunt pavefacta per asquora nostras I 
Non equidem priscse sseclum rediisse videtur 
Pyrrhae, cxun Proteiis pecus altos visere montes 
Et Sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora 
Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti 
In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. 
Quid verd hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu t 
Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex asre vel auro 
Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos uxidique gemmis, 
Bacca caerulea, et flammas imitante pyropo. 
Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus 
Parturit omnigenas, quibus seva per omnia sumptu 
Ingenti finxfere sibi diademata reges ? 

655 



2:i8 MINOR POEMS. 

Vix hoc crediderim. Nou fallunt talia acuSos 
Mei'catoinim oculos : prius et quam littora Gangis 
Liquissent, avidis gr-atissima prajcla fuissent 
Oi-tos unde putemus? An illos Ves'vius atrox 
Protulit, i^iivomisve ejecit faucibus iEtna? 
Luce micant propria, Plioebive, per aera puruin 
N\inc stimulantis equos, avgentea tela retorquent? 
Phoebi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus altis 
Appulsi, et rapidis subter cuvrentibus uudis, 
Tandem uon fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est 
Multa onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis. 
Castera sunt glacies. Procul hiuc, ubi Bi-uma ferS 
Contrjstat menses, portentaha;c horrida nobis [ouines 
Ilia strui voluit. Quoties de culmine sutnmo. 
Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solutse 
Sole, nives, proper© tendentes in mare ciirsu. 
Ilia gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese 
Mirum coepit opus; glacieque ab origine reram 
In glaciem aggesta sublimes vertice tandem 
.-Equavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. 
Sic immensa diu stetit, aeteniumque stetisset 
Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, 
Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, 
Pondei'e victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum ,, 
Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore, 
Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi; 
Ingens tota sti-ues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, 
Insula, in iEgaeo fluitasse en-atica ponto. 
Sed non ex glacie Delos ; neque torijida Delum 
Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum sterilemque. 
Sed restita herbis erat ilia, omataque nuiiquara 
Decidua lauro ; et Delum dilexit Apollo. 
At vos, errones horrendi, et calig.ine digni 
Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, 
Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri 
Sustinuif. Patruim vos ergo requirite caelum I 
Ite i Redite ! Timete moras; ni leniter austro 
Spirante, et nltidas Phoebe jaculante sagittna 
Hostili vobis, pereatia gurgite misti ! 
' March 11, 1799, 



850 



MINOR POEMS. 



ON THE ICE ISLANDS, SEEN FLO-ATING IN 
THE GERMAN OCEAN. 

What portents, from what distant region ridCj 
Unseen till now in ours, the astonish d tide ? 
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves 
Of sea-calves, soufrht the mountains and the groves. 
But now, descending whence of late they stood, 
Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood. 
Dire times were they, full charged with human woes; 
And these, scarce less calamitous tlian those. 
What view we now ■? More wondrous still! Behold: 
Like bumish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold ; 
And all around the pearl's pure splendour show. 
And all around the ruby's fiery glow. 
Come they from India, where the burning earth. 
All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth ; 
And where the costly gems, that beam around 
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found 1 
No. Never such a countless dazzling store 
Had left unseen the Ganges' peopled shore. 
Rapacious hands, and ever watchful eyes, 
Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the prize. 
Whence sprang they then '? Ejected have they come 
From Vesuvius', or from vEtna's burning womb i 
Thus shine they self illumed, or but display 
Tlie borrowed splendours of a cloudless day? 
With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales that 

breathe 
Now landward, and the cuirent's force beneath. 
Have borne them nearer: and the nearer sight, 
Advantaged more, contemplates them aright. 
Their lofty summits crested high they show, 
With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow. 
The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe. 
Bleak winter well nigh saddens all the year. 
Their infant growth began. He bade arise 
Their imcouth forms, portentous in our eyes. 

657 



240 MINOR POEMS. 

Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow- 
Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below ; 
He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast 
The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste. 
By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile. 
And long successive ages roU'd the while ; 
Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand 
Tall as its rival mountains on the land. 
Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill 
Or force of man, had stood the structure still, 
But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet 
By pressxire of its own enormoiis weight. 
It left the shelving beach — and, with a sound 
That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around« 
Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave. 
As if instinct with strong desire to lave, 
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old 
How Delos swam the iEgean deep have told. 
But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore 
Herb,fruit, and flower. She,crown'd with laurel, wore 
E'en under wintry skies, a summer smile ; 
And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle. 
But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you 
He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. 
Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey, 
But, scomfiil, turn'd his glorioiia eyes away. 
Hence, seek your home, nor longer rashly dare 
The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air ; 
Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast. 
In no congenial gulf for ever lost ! 
March 19, 1709. 



THE CASTAWAY. 



Obscurbst night involved the sky. 
The Atlantic billows roar'd. 

When such a destined wretch as I 
Wash'd headlong from on board. 

Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 

His floating home for ever left* 



MINOR FOEMS. 241 

No braver chief could Albion boast 

Than he with whom he v/ent, 
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 

With warmer wishes sent. 
He loved them both, but both in vain. 
Nor him beheld, nor her again. 

Not long beneath the whelming briue« 

Expert to s^vim he lay ; 
Nor soon he felt his strength decline. 

Or courage die away : 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted ; nor his friends had fail'd 

To check the vessel's course, 
But so the furious blast prevail'd 

That, pitiless perforce, 
They left their outcast mate behind. 
And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succour yet they could aflFord ; 

And, such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delay'd not to bestow : 
But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, 
Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 

Their haste himself condemn. 
Aware that flight, in such a sea. 

Alone could rescue them ; 
Yet bitter felt it still to die 
Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long sm-vives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self-upheld : 
And so long he, with mispent powci. 

His destiny repell'd : 
And ever, as the minutes flew. 
Entreated help, or cried — ' Adieu I' 
M 



343 MINOR POEMS. 

At len^h, his transient respite past 

His comrades, who before 
Had heard his voice in every blast. 

Could catch the sound no more : 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 

No poet wept him ; but the page 

Of naiTative sincere, 
That tells his name, his worth, his &f^, 

Is wet with Anson's tear : 
And tears by bards or ht^roes shed, 
Alike immortalize the dead. 

I therefore purpose not, or dreem. 

Descanting- on his fate« 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date : 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 

No Toice divine the storm allay'd. 

No light propitious shone ; 
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid. 

We perish'd, each alone : 
But I beneath a rougher sea, 
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 
March so, 1799. 



THE SALAD, BY VIRGIL. 

The winter night now well nigh worn away. 
The wakefrl cock proclaim'd approaching day, 
When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm 
Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm, 
Yawn'd, stretch'd his limbs, and anxious to proTld 
Against the pangs of hunger un supplied, 

660 



MINOR POEMS. 243 

By slow de^ees his tatter 'd bed forsook. 
And poking in the dark explored the nook 
Where embers slept with ashes heap'd around. 
And with burnt fingers'-ends the treasure found. 

It chanced that from a brand beneath his nose, 
Sure proof of latent fire, some smoke arose ; 
When trimming with a pin the inorusted tow, 
And stooping it towards the coals below, 
He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite 
The lingering flame, and gains at length a light. 
With prudent heed he spreads his hand before 
The quivering lamp, and opes his granary door. 
Small was his stock, but taking for the day 
A measured stint of twice eight pounds -^way. 
With these his mill he seeks. A shelf a^. hand 
Fix'd in the wall, affords his lamp a stand : 
Then baring both his anns — a sleeveless coat 
He girds, the rough exuvite of a goat : 
And with a rubber, for that use desigii'd. 
Cleansing his mill within — begins to grind ; 
Each hand has its employ ; labouring amain. 
This turns the winch, while that supplies the graia. 
The stone revolving rapidly, now glows. 
And the bruised com a mealy cuiTent flows ; 
While he, to make his heavy labour light. 
Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right ; 
And chants with rudest accent, to beguile 
Hi.-! ceaseless toil, as rude a strain the while. 
And now, ' Dame Cybale, come forth !' he cries ; 
But Cybale, still slumbering, nought replies. 

From Afric she, the swain's sole sei-vijig-maid. 
Whose face and form alike her birth betray'd. 
With woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin, 
Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin. 
Legs slender, broad and most misshapen feet, 
Chapp'd into chinks, and parch'd with solar heat. 
Such, summon'd oft, she came ; at his command 
Fresh fuel heap'd, the sleeping embers fann'd. 
And made in haste her simmering skillet steam, 
Replenish'd newly from the neighbouring stream. 

■The labours of the mill pert'orm'd, a sieve 
Tlie mingled flour and bran nuiwt next receive, 

661 



244 MINOR POEMS. 

Which shaken oft shoots Ceres through refined. 
And better dress'd, her husks all left behind. 
This done at once, his future plain repast 
Unleaven'd on a shaven board he cast, 
With tepid lymph first largely soak'd it all. 
Then gather'd it with both hands to a ball, 
And spreading- it again with both hands wide. 
With sprinkled salt the stifFen'd mass supplied ; 
At length the stubborn substance, duly wrought. 
Takes from his palms impress'd tbe shape it ought, 
Becomes an orb — and quarter'd into shares- 
The faithful mark of just division bears. 
Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space. 
For Cybale before had swept the place, 
And tliere, with tiles and embers overspread. 
She leaves it — reeking in its sultry bed. 

Nor Simulus, while Vulcan thus alone 
His part perform'd, prove heedless of his own, 
But sedulous, not merely to subdue 
His hunger, but to please his palate too. 
Prepares more savoui*y food. His chimney side 
Could boast no gammon, salted well and dried. 
And hook d behind him ; but sufficient store 
Of bundled anise, and a cheese it bore ; 
A broad round cheese, which, through its centre strung 
With a tough broom twig, in the cornur hung ; 
The prudent hero, therefore, with address 
And quick dispatch, now seeks another mess. 

Close to his cottage lay a garden gi-ound. 
With reeds and osiers sparely girt around : 
Small was the spot, but liberal to produce ; 
Nor wanted aught that serves a peasant's use. 
And sometimes e'en the rich would borrow thence 
Although its tillage was his sole expense. 
For oft as from his toils abroad he ceased. 
Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast. 
His debt of culture here he duly paid. 
And only left the plough to wield the spade. 
He knew to give each plant the soil it needs, 
To drill the ground and cover close the seed*} 
And could with ease compel tlie wanton riU 
To turn and wind obedient to his will 

862 



aujNor poems. 245 

There flourlsh'd star-wort, and the branchings beety 

The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet, 

The skirret, and the leek's aspiring: kind. 

The noxious poppy — quencher of the mind I 

Sahibrious sequel of a sumptuous board. 

The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd ; 

But these (for none his appetite control'd 

With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold ; 

With broom twigs neatly bound, each kind apart, 

He bore them ever to the public mart : 

Whence laden still, but with a lighter load. 

Of cash well eam'd, he took his homeward road. 

Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome, 

His gains in flesh-meat for a feast at home. 

There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red, 

Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf he fed : 

On scallions sliced, or with a sensual gust. 

On rockets — foul provocatives of lust ! 

Nor even shunn'd with smarting gums to press 

Nasturtium — pungent face-distorting mess ! 

Some such regale now also in his tliought, 
With hasty steps his garden gTomid he sought; 
There delving with his hands, he first displaced 
Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast; 
The tender tops of parsley next he culls, 
Then the old rue bush shudders as he pulls ; 
And coriander last to these succeeds, 
That hangs on slightest tlireads her trembling seeda 

Placed near his spnghtly fire he now demands 
The mortar at his sable sei-vant's hands ; 
When stripping all his garlick first, he tore 
The exterior coats, and cast them on the floor. 
Then cast away with like contempt the skin. 
Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. 
These search'd, and perfect found, he one by one 
Rinsed, aaid disposed within the hollow stone. 
Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese. 
With his injected herbs he cover'd these. 
And tucking with his left his tunic tight. 
And seizing fast the pestle with his right. 
The garlick bruising first he soon expresB'd, 
And mix'd the various juices of the rest. 

663 



240 MlIsOR POEMS. 

He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below, 

Lost in each other, their ovni powers forego. 

And with the cheese in compound, to the sight 

Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white. 

His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent. 

He cursed full oft his dinner for its scent ; 

Or with wry faces, v/iping as he spoke 

The trickling tears, cried, ' vengeance on the smoke I' 

The work proceeds : not roughly turns he now 

The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow ; 

With cautious hand, that grudges what it spills. 

Some drops of olive oil he next instills. 

Then vinegar with caution scarcely less, 

And gathering to a ball the medley mess. 

Last, with two fingers frugally applied, 

Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side 

And thus complete in figiire and in kind, 

Obtains at length the salad he design'd. 

And now black Cybale before him stands, 
The cake drawn nev/ly glowing in her hands, 
He glad receives it, chasing far away 
All fears of famine for the passing day ; 
His legs enclosed in buskins, and his head 
In its tough casque of leather, forth he led 
And yoked his steers, a dull obedient pair. 
Then drove afield, and plunged the pointed sbareh. 

June, 1799. 



TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 

Dear President, whose art sublime 

Gives perpettxitT,' to time. 

And bids transactions of a day, 

That fleeting hours would waft away 

To dark futurity, s.ur^'ive, 

And in unfading beauty live,— 

b6* 



MIMOR POEMS. 

You cannot with a urace decline 
A special mandate of the Nine — 
Yourself, whatever task you choose, 
So much indebted to the Muse. 

Thus say the sisterhood : — We comoKi 
Fix well your pallet on your thumb. 
Prepare the pencil and the tints — 
We come to furnish you with hints. 
French disappointment, British glory. 
Must be the subject of the story. 

First sti'ike a cm-ve, a graceful bow» 
Then slope it to a point below ; 
Your outline easy, airy, light, 
FiU'd up becomes a paper kite. 
Let independence, sanguine, horrid, 
Blaze, like a meteor in the forehead : 
Beneath (but lay aside your graces) 
Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces. 
Each with a staring, steadfast eye, 
Fix'd on his great and good ally. 
France flies the kite — 'tis on the ^ving — 
Britannia's lightning caits the string. 
The wind that raised it, ere it ceases, 
Just rends it into thirteen pieces. 
Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, 
And lays them all at George's feet. 

Iberia, ti-embling from afar, 
Renounces the confederate war. 
Her eflorts and her arts o'ercome. 
Prance calls her shattm'd i.avies home ; 
Repenting Holland learns to mourn 
The sacred ti'eaties she has torn ; 
Astonishment and awe profound 
Are stamp'd upon the nations round ; 
Without one friend, above all foes, 
Britannia gives the world repose 



848 MINOR POEMS 



ON THE AUTHOR OF LETTERS OK 
LITERATURE.* 

The genius of the Augustan age 
His head amonjy Rome's niins rear'd. 
And bursting with heroic rage, 
When literary Heron appear'd. 

Thou hast, he cried, like him of old 
Who set the Ephesian dome on fire, 
By being scandalously bold, 
Attain'd the mark of thy desire. 

And for traducing Virgil's name 
Shalt share his merited reward ; 
A perpetuity of fame. 
That rots and stinks, and is ahhorr'd. 



STANZAS 

ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH TBI 
REMAINS OF MILTON.t ANNO 1790. 

Me too, perchance, in future days. 
The sculptured stone shall show. 
With Paphian myrtle or with bays 
Parnassian on my brow. 

• Nominally by Robert Heron, Esq. but supposed to have been 
written by John Pinkerton. 6vo. 1785. 

t The bones of Milton, wlio lies buried in Ci-fpplepte church, 
were disinterred ; a pamphlet by Le Neve was published al the 
time, t:i^n« an aiccouut of what appeared on opening hi« coflin« 



MINOR FOEMS. 24 

* But I, or ere that season come. 

Escaped from every care. 
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb 

And sleep sec\u-ely there.'* 

So sang, in Roman tone and style^ 

The youthful bard, ere long 
Ordain'd to grace his native isle 

With her sublime»t song. 

Who then but must conceive disdain. 

Hearing the deed unblest 
Of wretches who have dared profane 

His di-ead sepulchral rest? 

ni fare the hands that heaved the stones t 

Where Milton's ashes lay, 
That trembled not to grasp his bones 

And steal his dust away I 

ill-reqmted bard ! neglect 

Thy living worth repaid, 
And blind idolatrous respect 
As much affronts thee dead. 
August, 1790. 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 

IT DKAR FHIEND, JuUe 22, 1782. 

If reading verse be your delight, 
*Tis mine as much, or more, to write ; 
But what we would, so weak is man. 
Lies oft remote from what we can. 

• Forsltaii et nostros ducat de marmore vultui 
Nectens aut Paplua myrti ant Pernasside lauri 
Fronde comas— At ego secura pace quiescam. 
. -, J ...,,, . Milton in Manto, 

* Cowper, no doubt, had in his memory the lines said to iuve 
•tn written by Shakspeare on his tomb : 

' Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear 
To di| the dnst inclosed here. 
Blest oe the nun that spares these stonei. 
And curst be lie tliat moves my bones.' 
M 2 



250 MINOR POEMS. 

For instance, at this very time 
I feci a wish by cheerful rhyme 
To soothe my friend, and. had I power. 
To cheat him of an anxious hour ; 
Not meaning (fur I must confess, 
It were hut folly to suppress) 
His pleasure, or his good alone. 
But squinting partly at my own. 
But though the sun is flaming high 
In the centre of yon arch, the sky, 
And he had once (and who but he?) 
The name for setting genius free, 
Yet whether poets of past days 
Yielded him undeserved praise, 
And he by no ujicommon lot 
Was famed for virtues he had not; 
Or whether, which is like enough. 
His Highness may have taken huff. 
So seldom sought with invocation. 
Since it has been the reigning fashion 
To disregard his inspiration, 
I seem no brighter in my wits. 
For all the radiance he emits. 
Than if I saw, through midnight vaponr* 
The glimmering of a farthing taper. 
Oh for a succedaneum, then. 
To accelerate a creeping pen ! 
Oh for a ready succedaneum, 
Quod caput, cerebrum, et cranium 
Pondere liberet exoso, 
Et morbo jam caliginoso I 
Tis here ; this oval box well fiU'd 
With best tobacco, finely mill'd. 
Beats all Antic>Ta's pretences 
To disengage th' encumber'd senses. 
Oh Nymphs of transatlantic fame. 
Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy 
Whether reposing on the side 
Of Oroonoquos spacious tide, 
Or listening with delight not small 
To Niagara's distant fall, 



Minor poems. 251 

'Tis thine to cherish and to feed 
The pungent nose-refreshing' weed. 
Which, whether pulverized it gain 
A speedy passage to the brain. 
Or whether, touch'd with fire, it rise 
In circling eddies to the skies. 
Does thought more quicken and refine 
Than aU the breath of all the Nine- 
Forgive the bard, if bard he be, 
Who once too wantonly made free 
To touch with a satiric wipe • 
That symbol of thy power, the pipe ; 
So may no blight infest thy plains. 
And no unseasonable rains ; 
And so may smiling peace once more 
Visit America's sad shore ; 
And thoti, secure from all alarms. 
Of thimdering drums, and glittering arms. 
Rove unconfined beneath the shade 
Thy wide expanded leaves have made ; 
So may thy votaries increase. 
And fumigation never cease. 
May Newton with renew'd delights 
Perform thine odoriferous rites, 
While clouds of incense half divine 
Involve thy disappearing shrine ; 
And so may smoke-inhaling Bull 
Be always filling, never full. 



MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION TO WILLIAM 
NORTHCOT. 

Hie sepultus est 
Inter suorum lacrymas 

GULIELMUS NORTHCOT 
GCLIELMI et MARI^ filiUB 

Unicus, unic^ dilectus. 

Qui floris ritu succisus est semiliiautb, 

Aprilis die septimo, 

1780, ^t. 10. 



252 MINOR POEMS. 

Care, vale ! Sed non astemtlm, care, valeto ! 

Namque iteriim tecum, sim modd dignus, erok. 
Tiun nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros. 
Nee tu marcesces, nee laciymabor ego. 

TRANSLATION. 

Farewell I "But not for ever," Hope replies, 
Trace but his steps and meet him in the skies ! 
There nothing.shall renew our parting pain. 
Thou Shalt not wither, nor I weep, again. 



EPITAPH 

ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTON. 

Laurels may flourish round the conqueror's tomb, 
But happiest they who win the world to come : 
Believers have a silent field to fight, 
And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. 
They in some nook, where little kno%vn they dwell, 
Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell ; 
Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine. 
And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine. 
1791. 



A RIDDLE. 

I AM just two and two, I am warm, I am cold. 
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told. 
I am lawful, unlawful — a duty, a fault, 
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought 
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, 
And yielded with pleasure wVien taken by force. 



MINOR POEMS. 253 

ANSWER FROM THE GENTLEUAN'S UAGAZINB 
Vol. IXXTi. p. 1224. 

A RIDDLE by Cowper 

Made me swear like a trooper ; 
But my anger, alas 1 was in vain ; 

For, remembering the bliss 

Of beaut>''s soft Kiss, 
I now long for such riddles again. 

J. T. 



CowPER had siun'd with some excuse. 
If, bound in rhyming tethers, 

He had committed this abuse 
Of changing ewes for wethers ;• 

But, male for female is a trope. 

Or rather bold misnomer. 
That would have startled even Pope, 

When he translated Homer. 



IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM, 

CORRDPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI NDPER 

EXORTAM. 

Pkrfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore, 
Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude petit. 

Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit 
Undique privatas patriciasque domos. 

* I have heard about my wether mutton from various quartern 
It was a blunder hardly i)ardonable in a man who has lived amii 
fields and meadows, grazed by sheep, almost these tliirty years. 
I have accordinffly satirized, myself in two stanzas which I 
composed last nfarlit, while I lay awake, tormented with pain, 
and well dosed with laudanum. If you find them not very 
brilliant, tlierefore, you will know how to account for iU— 
Letter to Joseph Hill, Esq. dated April 15, 1792. 

671 



254 MINOR POEMS. 

Nequicquita conata sua, foedissima sperat 
Posse tamen nostra nos superare manu. 

Gallia, vana struis ! Precibus nunc utere ! VinoM 
Nam mites timidis, supplicibusque sumus. 



TRANSLATION. 

False, cruel, disappointed, stting to the heart, 
France quits the wan-ior's for the assassin's part> 
To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys. 
Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze. 
Her sons, too weak to vanquish us alone. 
She hires the worst and basest of our own. 
Kneel, France 1 a suppliant conquers us with ease. 
We always spare a coward on his knees. 



TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 



FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS. 

A Spartan, his companion slain. 

Alone from battle fled ; 
His mother, kindling with disdain 

That she had bonie him, struck him dead; 
For courage, and not birth alone. 
In Sparta, testifies a son 1 



ON THE SAME BY PALAADAS. 

A OPARTAN 'scaping from the fight 
His mother met him in liis flight. 
Upheld a falchion to his breast. 
And thus tho fugitive address'd: 



6T2 



MINOR POEMS. 255 

• Thou canst but live to blot with shame 
Indelibly thy mother's name, 
While every breath that thou shalt draw 
Offends against thy country's law; 
But, if thou perish by this hand. 
Myself indeed throughout the laud. 
To my dishonour, shall be known 
The mother still of such a son ; 
But Sparta will be safe and free, 
And that shall serve to comfort me.' 



AN EPITAPH. 



My name — my country — what are they to thee ^ 
What, whether base or proud my pedigree 
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men — 
Perhaps I fell below them all — what then ? 
Suffice it, stranger ! that thou seest a tomb — 
Thou know'st its use — it hides — no matter whom 



ANOTHER. 



Take to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain 
With much hard labour in thy sei-vice worn 
He set the vines that clotlie yon ample plain 
And he these olives that the vale adorn. 
He fiU'd with grain the glebe ; the rills he led 
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bowers; 
Thou, therefore, earth I lie lightly on his head. 
His hoary head, and deck his grave with floweni. 



ANOTHER. 



Painter, this likeness is too strong. 
And we shall mourn the dead too long. 



256 MINOR POEMS. 



ANOTHER. 

At threescore winters' end I died 
A cheerless being:, sole and sad; 
The nuptial knot I never tied. 
And wish my father never had. 



BY CALLIMACHUS. 

At mom we placed on his funereal bier 

Young Melanippus; and at eventide, 

Unable to sustain a loss so dear, 

By her own hand his blooming sister died. 

Thus Aristippus moxim'd his noble race. 

Annihilated by a double blow, 

Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embracCj 

And ail Gyrene sadden'd at his woe. 



ON MILTIADES. 

MiLTiADES ' thy valour best 
(Although in every region known) 
The men of Persia can attest. 
Taught by thyself at Marathon. 



ON AN INFANT. 



Bewail not much, my parents 1 me, the prey 
Of ruthless Ades, and sepulchred here. 
An infant, in my fifth scarce-finislj'd year. 
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay. 
Your young Callimachus ; and if I knew 
Not many joys, my griefs wei-e also few. 



MINOR POEMS. 



BY HERACLIDES 

In Cnidus bom, the consort I became 
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name. 
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride, 
But bore two children at a birth, and died. 
One child I leave to solace and uphold 
Euphron hereatter, when infirm and old. 
And one for his remembrance sake I bear 
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there. 



ON THE REED. 

I WAS of late a barren plant. 
Useless, insignificant, 
Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, 
A native of the marshy shore ; 
But gathcr'd for poetic use. 
And plunged into a sable juice, 
Of which my modic^^m I sip 
With narrow moutli and slender lip. 
At once, although by nature dujnb. 
All eloquent I have become. 
And speak, wth fluency untired. 
As if by Phoebus' self inspired. 



TO HEALTH. 

Eldest bom of powers divine ! 
Bless'd Hygeia! be it mine 
To enjoy what thou canst give, 
And henceforth with thee to lire i 
For in power if pleasure be, 
Wealth, or numerous progeny. 



67& 



MINOR POEMS. 

Or in amorous embrace, 
Where no spy infests the place ; 
Or in aught that heaven bestows 
To alleviate human woes, 
When the wearied heart despairs 
Of a respite from its cares ; 
These and evei-y true delight 
Flourish only in thy sight ; 
And the sister Graces three. 
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee> 
Without whom we may possess 
Much, but never happiness. 



ON INVALIDS. 



Par happier are the dead, methinks, than they 
Who look for death, and fear it, every day 



ON THE ASTROLOGERS. 

The astrologers did all alike presage 
My uncle's d>-ing in extreme old age; 
One only disagreed. But he was wise, 
And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries. 



ON AN OLD WOMAN. 

Mtcilla dyes her locks, 'tis said ; 

But 'tis a foul aspersion ; 
She buys them black ; they therefore need 

No subsequent immersion 



676 



MINOR POEMS. 259 



ON FLATTERERS. 

No mischief worthier of our fear 

In nature can be found 
Than friendship, in ostent sincere, 

But lioUow and unsound. 
For luU'd into a dangerous dream 

We close infold a foe, 
Who strikes, when most secure we seem, 

The inevitable blow. 



ON A TRUE FRIEND. 

Hast thou a friend 1 Thou hast indeed 

A rich and large sui)ply. 
Treasure to serve your every need. 

Well managed, till you die. 



TO THE SWALLOW. 

Attic maid ! with honey fed, 

Bear'st thou to thy callow brood 

Yonder locust from the mead, 

Destined their delicious food? 

Ye have kindred voices clear. 
Ye alike unfold the wing. 

Migrate hither, sojourn here. 
Both attendant on the spring 

Ah, for pity drop the prize ; 

Let it not with truth be said. 
That a songster gasps and dies. 

That a songster may be fed* 



MINOR POEMS. 



ON LATE-ACQUIRED WKVLTH. 

Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes 
Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour. 

Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the naeano; 
And nought when old enjoy'd, denied the power. 



ON A BATH, BY PLATO 

Did Cytherea to the skies 

From this pellucid lymph arise 1 

Or was it Cytherea's touch 

When bathing here, that made it such? 



ON A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS. 

With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air, 
Eumekis gather'd free, though scanty, fare. 
No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss. 
Nor luxm-y knew, save liberty, nor bliss. 
Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his heirs 
Hia seeds bequeath'd, his birdlime, and his snarea. 



ON NIOBE. 



Charon ! receive a family on board 
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl, 

Apollo and Diana, for a word 

By me too proudly spoken, slew us alL 

678 



MINOR POEMS. 261 



ON A GOOD MAN. 

Travelleii, regret not me ; for thou shalt find 

Just cause of sorrow none in my decease, 
Who, dying-, children's children left behind. 

And with one wife lived many a year in peace : 
Three virtuous youths espoused my daughters three 

And oft their infants in my bosom lay. 
Nor saw I one, of all derived from me, 

Touch'd with disease, or tora by death away. 
Their duteous hands my funeral rites bestow'd. 

And me, by blameless manners fitted well 
To seek it, sent to the serene abode 

Where shades of pious men for ever dwell. 



ON A MISER. 

They call thee rich— I deem thee poor. 
Since, if thou darest not use thy store. 
But savest it only for thine heirs. 
The treasure is not thine, but theirs. 



ANOTHER. 

A MISER, traversing his house. 

Espied, unusual there, a mouse. 

And thus his uninvited gnest 

Briskly inquisitive address'd : 

' Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it 

I owe this unexpected visit V 

The mouse her host obliquely eyed, 

And, smiling, pleasantly replied : 

• Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard I 

I come to lodge, and not to board.' 

0/9 



MINOR POEMS. 



ANOTHER. 



Art thou some individual of a kind 

Lonj? lived by nature as the rook or hind ? 

Heap treasure, then, for if thy need be such, 

Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much. 

But man thou seem'st, clear therefore fi'om thy breast 

This lust of treasure — folly at the best ! 

For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb. 

To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom? 



ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY. 

Rich, thou hadst many lovers — poor, hast none. 
So surely want extingxiishcs the flame, 

And she who call'd thee once her pretty one, 
And her Adonis, now inquires thy name. 

Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where 
In what strange country can thy parents livct 

Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware 
Tliat want's a crime no woman can forgive 1 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy songster, perch'd above. 
On the summit of the grove. 
Whom a dew-drop cheers to sing 
With the freedom of a king. 
From thy perch survey the fields 
Where prolific nature yields 
Nought that, Avillingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 



MINOR POEMS. 

For hostility or hate 
None thy pleasures can create. 
Thee it satisfies to sing' 
Sweetly the return of spring. 
Herald of the genial hours. 
Harming neither herbs nor flowers. 
Therefore man thy voice attends 
Gladly — thou and he are friends ; 
Nor thy never-ceasing strains 
Phoebus or the muse disdains 
As too simple or too long, 
For themselves inspire the song. 
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying. 
Ever singing, sporting, playing. 
What has nature else to show 
Godlike in its kind as thou? 



ON HERMOCRATIA. 

Hermocratia named — save jnly one — 
Twice fifteen births I bore, and buried none ; 
For neither Phoebus pierced my thriving joy» 
Nor Dian — she my ghls, or he my boys. 
But Dian rather, when my daughters lay 
In parturition, chased their pangs away. 
And all my sons, by Phoebus' bounty, shared 
A vigorous youth, by sickness unimpair'd. 
O Niobe ! far less prolific! see 
Thy boast against Latona shamed by me f 



FROM MENANDER. 

Pond youth ! who dteam'st that hoarded gold 

Is needful, not alone to pay 
For all thy various items sold. 

To serve the wants of every day ; 



2G-1 MINOR POEMS. 

Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat. 

For savoury viands season 'd high } 
But somewhat more important yet — 

I tell thee what ; t cannot buy. 

No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd 
Than fame to Tantalus assign'd. 

Would save thee from a tomb at last, 
But thou must leave it all behind. 

I give thee, therefore, counsel wise ; 

Confide not vainly in thy store. 
However large — much less despise 

Others comparatively poor ; 

But in thy more exalted state 

A just and equal temper show. 

That all who see thee rich and great 
May deem thee worthy to be so. 



ON PALLAS BATHING, FROM A HYMN 0» 
CALLIMACHUS. 

Nob oils of balmy scent produce. 
Nor mirror for Minerva's use. 
Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array'd 
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid. 
Not even when they left the skies 
To seek on Ida's head the prize 
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign. 
Or Pallas in the crystal plain 
Of Simois' stream her locks to trace* 
Or in the min-or's polish'd face. 
Though Venus oft with anxious care 
Adjusted twice a single hair. 



MINOR POEMS. 265 



TO DEMOSTHENES. 

It flatters and deceives thy view. 
This mirror of ill polish'd ore ; 

Por were it just, and told thee true. 
Thou wouldst consult it never more. 



ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER. 

You give your cheeks a rosy stain. 
With washes dye your hair ; 

But paint and washes both are vain 
To give a youthful air. 

Those wrinkles mock your daily toil. 
No labour will efface 'em 

You wear a mask of smoothest oil. 
Yet still with ease we trace 'em. 

An art so fruitless then forsake. 

Which though you much excel in. 

You never can contrive to make 
Old Hecuba young Helen. 



ON AN UGLY FELLOW. 

Bkwark, my friend ! of crystal brook 
Or foimtain, lest that hideous hook. 

Thy nose, thou chance to see ; 
Narcissus' fate would then be thine. 
And self-detested thou wouldst pine. 
As self-enamour'd he. 
N 

683 



Ml IS OR POEMS 



ON A BATTERED BEAUTY. 

Hair, wax, rouge, honey, teetL you bnjr 

A multifarious store ! 
A mask, at once would all supply, 

Nor would it cost you more. 



ON A THIEF. 



When Atilus, the noctural thief, made priz* 
Of Hermes, swift- wing'd envoy of the skies, 
Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine. 
Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine. 
And whom, as arbiter and overseer 
Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here ; 

Hermes,' he cried, ' you meet no new disaster ; 
Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master.' 



ON PEDIGREE- 

FROM EPICHARMUS. 

My mother ! if thou love me, name no more 
My noble birth ! Sounding at every breath 
My noble birth, thou kill'st me- Thither fly, 
As to their only refuge, all from whom 
Nature withholds all good besides ; they boast 
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs 
Of their forefathers, and, from age to age 
Ascending", trumpet their illustrious race : 
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name. 
Derived from no forefathers 1 Such a man 
Lives not ; for how could such be bom at all ? 
And if it chance that, native of a land 
Far distant, or in infancy deprived 



MINOR POEMS. 207 

Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace 
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung 
Prom baser ancestry than theirs who can T 
My mother ! he whom nature at his birth 
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although 
An iEthiop and a slave, is nobly born. 



ON ENVY. 

Pity, says the Theban barS, 
From my wishes I discard ; 
Envy, let me rather be. 
Rather far, a theme for thee 1 
Pity to distress is shown, 
Envy to the great alone — 
So the Theban — But to shine 
Less conspicuous be mine ! 
I prefer the golden mean. 
Pomp and penury between ; 
For alarm and peril wait 
Ever on the loftiest state. 
And the lowest to the end 
Obloquy and scorn attend. 



BY MOSCHUS. 

I SLEPT when Venus enter'd : to my bed 
A. Cupid in her beauteous hand she led, 
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said : 

* Shepherd, receive my little one 1 I bring 
An untaught love, whom thou must teach to aing.' 
She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought. 
Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught. 
How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound. 
How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound. 
How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire 
Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre. 



268 MINOR POEMS. 

Such were my themes ; my themes nought heeded he, 

But ditties sang of amorous sort to mrt, 

The pangs that mortals and immortals prove 

From Venus' influence, and the darts of love. 

Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught ; 

His lessons I retain'd, and mine foi-got. 



BY PHILEMON. 



Oft we enhance our ills by discontent. 
And give them bulk beyond what nature meant. 
A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry — 
« He's dead indeed, but he was bom to die ' — 
Such temperate grief is suited to the size 
And biirthen of the loss ; is just and wise 
But to exclaim, 'Ah ! wherefore was I bom, 
Thus to be left for ever thus forlorn?' 
Who thus laments his loss invites distress. 
And magnifies a woe that might be less, 
Tlirough dull despondence to his lot resign'd. 
And leaving reason's remedy behind. 



EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED FROM THE 
LATIN OF OWEN. 

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT. 

Thoo mayst of double ignorance boast. 
Who know'st not that thou nothing know'st. 



PRUDENT SIMPLICITY. 

That thon mayst injure no man, dove-like be. 
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee I 



MINOR POEMS. 269 



TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. 

I WISH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend; 
For when at worst, they say, things always 



RETALIATION. 

Thb works of ancient bards divine, 

Aulus, thou scom'st to read ; 
And should posterity read thine. 

It would be strange indeed I 
When little more than boy in age, 
I deem'd myself almost a sage : 
But now seem worthier to be styled* 
For ignorance, almost a child. 



SUNSET AND SUNRISE. 

Contemplate, when the sun declines. 
Thy death with deep reflection I 

And when again he rising shines, 
Thy day of resurrection 1 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES 
OF GAY. 

LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS. 

Ldsus amicitia est, uni nisi dedita, ceu fit, 
Simplice ni nexus foedere, lusus amor. 

Incerto genitore puer, non ssepe patemae 
Tutamen novit, delicia9<)ue domus : 



270 MINOR POEMS. 

Quique sibi fiidos fore multos sperat, auiicus, 

Mirum est huic misero si ferat iillus opem. 
Coiais erat, mitisque, et nolle et velle paratus 

Cum qiiovis, Gaii more modoque, Lepiis. 
Ille, quot in sylvis et quot spatiantur in agris 

Quadrupedes, ndrat conciliare sibi ; 
Et qnisque innocxio, invitoque lacessere queuquam 

Labra tenus saltern tidus amicus erat. 
Ortum sub lucis dum pressa cubilia linquit, 

Rorantes herbas, pabula sueta, petens, 
Venatorum audit claugores pone sequentem, 

Fulmineumque sonum territus erro fugit. 
Corda pavor pulsat, siu-sum sedet, erigit aures, 

Respicit, et sentit jam prope adesse necem. 
Utque canes fallat late circumvagus, illuc, 

Unde abiit, mira caJliditate redit ; 
Viribus at fractis tandem se projicit ultro 

In medift misermn semianimemque via. 
Vix ibi stratus, equi sonitum pedis audit, et, oh ape 

Quam laeta adventu cor agitatur equi J 
Dorsum (inquit) raihi, chare, tuum concede, tuoque 

Auxilio nares fallere, vimque canum. 
Me mens, ut nosti, pes prodit — fidus amicus 

Fert quodcunque lubens, nee grave sentit, onu3 
Belle miselle lepuscule, (equus respondet) amara 

Omnia quae tibi sunt, sunt ct amara mihi. 
Verum age — sume animos — multi, me pone, boniqu« 

Adveniunt, quorum sis cito salvus ope. 
Proximus armenti dominus bos solicitatus 

Auxilium his verbis se dare posse negat. 
Quando quadrupedum, quot vivunt, nullus am.cum 

Me nescire potest usque fuisse tibi, 
Libertate sequus, quam cedita micus amico, 

Utar, et absque metu ne tibi displiceam ; 
Hinc me mandat amor. Juxta istum messis acervuni 

Me mea, pree cunctis chara, juvenca manet ; 
Et quis non ultro quascunque negotia linquit, 

Pareat ut dominas, cum vocat ipse su«? 1 
Neu me crudelem dicas — discedo — sed hircus, 

Cujus ope effugiaa integer, hircus adest [languent i 
Pcbrem ait hircus) habes. Heu, sicca ut lumina 

Utque caput, cello deficiente, jacet ' 



MINOR POEMS. 271 

Hirsutum mih tergum ; et foisan laeserit asgrum, 

Vellere eris melius fultus, ovisque venit. 
Me mihi fecit onus natura, ovis inquit, anhelaDj 

Sustineo lanae poudera tauta mese ; 
Me nee velocem nee fortem jacto, solentq 

Nos etiam saevi dilacerare canes. 
Ultiraus accedit vitulus, suscepero tantam 

Ut periturum alias ocyus eripiat. 
Remne eg-o, respondet vitulus, vitulumque precatui 

Non depulsus adhtic ubere, natus heii ? 
Te, quern maturi canibus validique relinquunt, 

Incoluniera potero reddere parvus eiro? 
PraJterea tollens quem illi aversantur, amicis 

Forte parum videar consuluisse meis. 
IgTioscas oro. Fidis.«ima dissociantur 

Corda, et tale tibi sat liquet esse meum. 
Ecce autem ad calces cania est ! te quanta perempto 

Tristitia est nobis ingruitura 1 — Vale ! 



AVARUS ET PLUTUS 

IcTA fenestra Euri flatu stridebat, avarus 

Ex somno trepidus surgit, opumque meraor. 
Lata silenter humi ponit vestigia, quemque 

Respicit ad sonitum re.«pieiensque tremit ; 
Anjrustissima quaeque foramina lampade visit. 

Ad vectes, obices, fertque refertque raanum. 
Dein reserat crebris junctam compagibus arcam 

Exttltansque oranes conspicit intus opes. 
Sed tandem furiis ultricibus actus ob artes 

Queis sua res tenuis creverat in cumulum. 
Contortis manibus nunc stat, nunc pectora pulsans 

Aurum execratur, pemiciemque vocat ; 
O mihi, ait, misero mens quam tranquilla fuisset. 

Hoc celasset adhue si modo terra malum ! 
hluT'c autem virtus ipsa est venalis ; et aurum 

Quid co'itra vitii tormina sieva valet? 
O inimicum aiirum ! O homini infestissima pesti; 

Cui datur illecebrfi>j vincere posse tuaa t 



272 MINOR i'oiliMS. 

Aurum homines suasit contemnere quicquid honestuia 

Et prseter nomen nil retinere boni. Test 

Aurum cuncta mali per terras semina sparsit; 

Aurum nocturnis furibus amia dedit. 
Bella docet fortes, timidosque ad pessima ducit. 

Foedifragas artes, multiplicesque dolos, 
Nee vitii quicquam est, quod non invenerls ortum 

Ex malesuada auri sacrilegaque fame. 
Dixit, et ingemuit ; Plutusque suum sibi numen 

Ante oculos, ira fervidus, ipse stetit. 
Arcam clausit avarus, et ora horrentia rugis 

Ostendens ; tremulum sic Deus increpuit 
Questibus his raucis mihi cur, stulte, obstrepis 

Ista tui similis tristia quisque canit. [aures 1 

Commaculavi egone humemum genus, improbe 1 
Culpa, 

Dum rapis, et captas omnia, culpa tua est. 
Mene execrandum censes, quia tarn pretiosa 

Criminibus fiunt pemiciosa tuis ? 
Virtutis specie, pulchro ceu pallio amictus 

Quisque catus nebulo sordida facta tegit. 
Atque suis manibus commissa potentia, diirum 

Et dirum subito vergit ad imperium. 
Hinc, nimium dum latro aurum detrudit in arcam. 

Idem aurum latet in pectore pestis edax. 
Nutrit avaritiam et fastum, suspendere adunco 

Suadet naso inopes, et vitiimi omne docet. 
Auri et larga probe si copia con ti git, iustar 

Roris dilapsi ex aethere cuncta beat : 
Turn, quasi numen inesset, alit, fovet, reducat oibos, 

Et viduas lacrymis ora rigare vetat. 
Quo sua crimina jure auro derivet avarus, 

Aurum animse pretium qui cupit atque capit ? 
Lege pari gladium incuset sicarius atrox 

Cseso homine, et ferrum judicet esse reum. 



PAPILIO ET LIMAX. 

Qui sabito ex imis rerum in fastigia surgit 
N.atiyas sordes, quicquid agatur, olet. 



MINOR POEMS. 27S 

TRANSLATION FROM YIRGIL. 

i£N£IU, BOOR VIII, LINE 18. 

Thus Italy was moved — ^nor did the chief 

^neas in his mind less tumult feel. 

On every side his anxious thought he turas, 

Restless, unfix'd, not knowing what to choose. 

And as a cistern that in brim of brass 

Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun 

Smile on it, or the moon's resplendent orb, 

The quivering light now flashes on the walls, 

Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof: 

Such were the wavering motions of his mind. 

'Twas night — and weary nature sunk to rest. 

The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no mor.,- 

At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp 

And dewy vault, fast by the river's biink, 

The father of his country sought repose. 

When lo ! among the spreading poplar boughs, 

Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose 

The god of Tiber : clear transparent gauze 

Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd . 

And these his gi-acious words to soothe his care : 

' Heaven-born, who bring'st our kindred home 
Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy, [again, 

Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains 
Expected thee ; behold thy fix'd abode. 
Fear not the threats of war, the storm is pass'd. 
The gods appeased. For proof that what thou heal'st 
Is no vain forgery or delusive dream, 
Beneath the grove that borders my green bank, 
A milk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young. 
Shall greet thy wondering eyes. Mark well the place ; 
For 'tis th3' place of rest, there end thy toils : 
There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba's walls 
Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' hand. 
Thus shall it be — now listen, while I teach 
The means to accomplish these events at hand. 
The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung. 
Following Evander's standard and his fate, 
N2 



274 MINOR POEMS. 

High on these mountains, a wel)-chosen spot, 

Have bnilt a city, for their grandsire's sake 

Named Pallanteiim. These perpetual war 

Wage with the Latians^-join'd in faithful league 

And amis confederate, add them to your camp. 

M yself between my winding banks will speed 

Your well-oar'd barks to stem the opposing tide. 

Rise, goddess-bom, arise ; and with the first 

Declining stars seek Juno in thy prayer, 

And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vows. 

When conquest crowns thee, then remember me. 

I ani the Tiber, whose casmlean stream 

Heaven favours ; 1 with copious flood divide 

These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful meads. 

My mansion, this — and lofty cities crown 

My fountain head.' — He spoke and sought the deep, 

And plunged his foi-m beneath the closing flood. 

jEneas at the moniing dawn awoke, 

And, rising, %\"ith uplifted eye beheld 

The orient sun then dipp'd his palms, and scoop'd 

The brimming stream, and thus address'd the skies: 

' Ye nymphs, Laurentiaa nymphs, who feed the 

source 
Of many a stream, and thou, with thy blest flood, 
O Tiber, hear, accept me, and afford, 
At length afford, a shelter from my woes 
Where'er in secret cavern under ground 
Thy waters sleep, where'er they spring to light. 
Since thou hast pity for a wretch like me, 
My off'erings and my vows shall wait thee still : 
Great homed Father of Hesperian floods, 
Be gracious now and ratify thy word.' 
He said, and chose two galleys from his fleet. 
Fits them with oars, and clothes the crew in 
When lo ! astonishing and pleasing sight. 
The milk-white dam, with her unspotted brood. 
Lay stretch'd upon the bank, beneath the grove. 
To thee, the pious Prince, Juno, to thee 
Devotes them all, all on thine altar bleed. 
That livelong night old Tiber smooth'd his flood. 
And so restrain'd it that it seem'd to stand 
Motionless as a pool, or silent lake. 



MINOR POEMS. 276 

That not a billow might resist their oars. 
With cheerful sound of exhortation soon 
Their voyage they begin ; the pitchy keel 
Slides through the gentle deep, the quiet stream 
Admires the unwonted burthen that it bears, 
Well-polish'd arms, and vessels painted gay. 
Beneath the shade of various trees, between 
The umbrageous branches of the spreading gi-ovea, 
They cut their liquid way, nor day nor niglit 
They slack their course, unwinding as they go 
The long meanders of the peaceful tide. 

The glowing siui was in meridian height. 
When from afar they saw the hximble walls, 
And the few scatter'd cottages, which now 
The Roman power has equall'd with the clouds ; 
But such was then Evander's scant domain. 
They steer to shore, and hasten to the town. 

It chanced the Arcadian monarch on that day. 
Before the walls, beneath a shady grove, 
Was celebrating high, in solemn feast, 
Alcides and his tutelary gods. 
Pallas, his son, was there, and there the chief 
Of all his youth ; with these, a worthy tribe. 
His poor but venerable senate, burnt 
Sweet incense, and their altars smoked with blood. 
Soon as they saw the towering masts approach, 
Sliding befr^veen the trees, while the crew rest 
Upon their silent oars, amazed they rose, 
Not without fear, and all forsook the feast. 
But Pallas undismay'd, his javelin seized, 
Rush'd to the bank, and from a rising ground 
Forbade them to disturb the sacred rites. 
' Ye stranger youth ! What prompts you to exploie 
This untried way? and whither do ye steer? 
Whence, and who are ye? Bring ye peace or war?' 
/Eneas from his lofty deck holds forth 
The peaceful olive-branch, and thus replies : 
• Trojans and enemies to the Latian state, 
Whom they with unprovoked hostilities 
Have driven away, thou see'st. We seek Evander- 
Say this — and say beside, the Trojan chiefs 
Aire come, and seek his friendship and his aid. 



276 MINOR POEMS. 

Pallas with wonder heard that awfiil name. 

And ' Whosoe'er thou art,' he cried, ' come fortll 

Bear thine own tidings to my father's ear. 

And be a welcome guest beneath our roof.' 

He said, and press'd the stranger to his breast : 

Then led him from the river to the grove, 

Where, courteous, thus ^Eneas gTcets the king: 

' Best of the Grecian race, to whom I bow 

(So wills my fortune) suppliant, and stretch fort 

In sign of amity this peaceful branch, 

I fear'd thee not, although I knew thee well 

A Grecian leader, born in Arcady, 

And kinsman of the Atrida;. Me my virtue, 

That means no wrong to thee — the Oracles, 

Our kindred families allied of old. 

And thy renown diliused through every land, 

Have all conspired to bind in friendship to thee> 

And send me not unwilling to thy shores. 

Dardanus, author of the Trojan state, 

(So say the Greeks) was fair Electra's son ; 

Electra boasted Atlas for her sire. 

Whose shoulders high sustain the sethereal orbB. 

Your sire is Mercury, whom Maia bore, 

Sweet Maia, on Cyllene's hoary top. 

Her, if we credit aught tradition old. 

Atlas of yore, the selfsame Atlas, claim'd 

His daughter. Thus united close in blood. 

Thy race and ours one common sire confess. 

With these credentials fraught, I would not send 

Ambassadors with artful phrase to sound 

And win thee by degrees — but came myself— 

Me, therefore, me thou seest ; my life the stake : 

'Tis I, iEneas, who implore thine aid. 

Should Daunia, that now aims the blow at thee. 

Prevail to conquer us, nought then, they think. 

Will hinder, but Hesperia must be theirs, 

All theirs, from the upper to the nether sea. 

Take then our friendship, and return us thiae. 

We too have courage, we have noble minds. 

And youth well tried, and exercised in arms.' 

Tlius spoke ^>.eas — He with hx'd regard 
Survey'd him speaking, features, form, and mien. 

«04 



jMINor poems. 277 

Then briedy thus — ' Thou noblest of thy name. 

How gladly do I take thee to my heart, 

How gladly thus confess thee for a friend I 

In thee I ti'ace Anchises ; his thy speech, 

Thy voice, thy countenance. For I well remember 

Many a day since, when Priam joumey'd forth 

To Salamis, to see the land where dwelt 

Hesione, his sister, he push'd on 

E'en to Arcadia's frozen bounds. was then 

The bloom of youth was glo\ving on my cheek ; 

Much I admired the Trojan chiefs, and much 

Their king, the son of great Laomedon, 

But most Anchises, towering o'er them all. 

A youthful longing seized me to accost 

The hero, ?.nd embrace him ; I drew^ near. 

And gladly led him to the walls of Pheneus. 

Departing, he distinguish'd me with gifts, 

A costly quiver stored with Lycian darts, 

A robe inwove with gold, with gold imboss'd, 

Two bridles, those which Pallas uses now. 

The friendly league thou hast solicited 

I give thee, therefore, and to-morrow all 

My chosen youth shall wait on your return. 

Meanwhile, since thus in friendship ye are come. 

Rejoice with us, and join to celebrate 

These annual rites, which may not be delay'd, 

And be at once familiar at our board.' 

He said, and bade replace the feast removed ; 
Himself upon a grassy bank disposed 
The crew ; but for JEneas order 'd forth 
A couch spread with a lion's tawny shag, 
And bade him share the honours of his throne. 
The appointed youth with glad alacrity 
Assist the labouring priest to load the board 
With roasted entrails of the slaughter'd beeves, 
Well-kneaded bread and mantling bowls. Well 
Mneas and the Trojan youth regale [pleasedj 

On the huge length of a well-pastured chine. 

Hunger appeased, and tables all despatch'd. 
Thus spake Evander: ' Superstition here, 
In this old solemn feasting, has no part. 
No, Trojan friend, from utmost danger saved. 



278 MINOR POEMS. 

In gratitude this worship we renew. 

Behold that rock which nods above the vale. 

Those bulks of broken stone dispersed around. 

How desolate the shatter'd cave appears. 

And what a ruin spreads the incumber'd plain. 

Within this pile, but far within, was once 

The den of Cacus ; dire his hateful form 

That shium'd the day, half monster and half man 

Blood newly shed stream'd ever on the ground 

Smoking, and many a visage pale and wan 

Nail'd at his gate, hung hideous to the sight. 

Vulcan begot the brute : vast was his size. 

And from his throat he belch'd his father's fires. 

But the day came that brought us what we wish'd 

The assistance and the presence of a God. 

Flush'd with his victory, and the spoils he won 

From triple-form'd Geryon lately slain. 

The great avenger, Hercules, appear'd. 

Hither he drove his stately bulls, and pour'd 

His herds along the vale. But the sly thief 

Cacus, that nothing might escape his hand 

Of villany or fraud, drove from the stalls 

Four of the lordliest of his bulls, and four 

The fairest of his heifers ; by the tail 

He dragg'd them to his den, that there conceal'd. 

No footsteps might betray the dark abode. 

And now his herd with provender sufficed, 

Alcides would be gone : they as they went 

Still bellowing loud, made the deep echoing woods 

And distant hills resound : when hark ! one ox, 

Imprison'd close within the vast recess, 

Lows in return, and frustrates all his hope. 

Then fury seized Alcides, and his breast 

With indignation heaved : grasping his club 

Of knotted oak, swift to the moimtain top 

He ran, he flew. Then first was Gaou» seen 

To ti'emble, and his eyes bespoke his fears. 

Swift as an eastern blast he sought his den, 

And dread, increasing, wing'd him as he went. 

Drawn up in iron slings above the gate 

A rock was hung enormous. Such his haste. 

He burst the chains, and dropp'd it at the door. 



MINOR POEMS. 219 

Then grapjiled it with iron work within 
Of bolts and bars by Vulcan's art contrived. 
Scarce was he fast, when panting- for revenge 
Came Hercules ; he g-nash'd his teeth with rage^ 
And quick as lightning glanced his eyes around 
In quest of entrance. Fiery red and stung 
With indignation, thrice he wheel'd his course 
About the mountain ; thrice, Out thrice in vain, 
He strove to force the quarry at the gate. 
And thrice sat down o'erwearied in the vale. 
There stood a pointed rock, abrupt and rude, 
That high o'erlook'd the rest, close at the back 
Of the fell monster's den, where birds obscene 
Of ominous note resorted, choughs and daws. 
This, as it lean'd obliquely to the left. 
Threatening the stream below, he from the right 
Push'd with his utmost strength, and to and fro 
He shook the mass, loosening its lowest base ; 
Then shoved it from its seat; down fell the pile; 
Sky thunder'd at the fall ; the banks give way. 
The affrighted stream flows upward to his source. 
Behold the kennel of the brute exposed. 
The gloomy vault laid open. So, if chance 
Earth yawning to the centre should disclose 
The mansions, the pale mansions of the dead, 
Loath'd by the gods, such would the gulf appear 
And the ghosts tremble at the sight of day. 
The monster braying with unusual din 
Within his hollow lair, and sore amazed 
To see such sudden inroads of the light, 
Alcides press'd him close with what at hand 
Lay readiest, stamps of trees, and fragments huge 
Of millstone size. He, (for escape was none) 
Wondrous to tell ! forth from his gorge discharged 
A smoky cloud that darken'd all the den ; 
Wreath after wTeath he vomited amain, 
The smothering vapour mix'd with fiery sparks. 
No sight could penetrate the veil obscure. 
The hero, more provoked, endured not this. 
But with a headlong leap he rush'd to where 
The thickest cloud enveloped his abode. 
There grasp'd he Cacus, spite of all his fires, 

2Y 



280 MrNOIl I'OKM.S. 

Till cruHliM wiMiin his armH, the uumttUtr mIiowm 

IIiH liloodliiHB throat, now dry witli j);iritiM(;' liunl, 

And hirt ])reHH'd fiy(jb!ill.s Htart. Soon hu tcarh dowm 

The harricado of rock, the dark abyHH 

LicH open ; and tlu", iinyiriHdn'd bulla, the theft 

He had with oatliH d<;nii><l, an; broiii^ht to liK'lit ; 

ily the h(!i!ls till! niiHcrcant carcuMM im dragg'd furth* 

HiM face, hiH <;yeH, all terrible, hitt breuHt 

Benet with bristles, and hits wjoty jawB, 

Are view'd with wonder never to be cloy d. 

Hence the celebrity thou seeHt, and henctt 

'J'hiM feHtal day, I'otitiuM (irHt enjoin'd 

I'osterity theMO Hohtnin riteH, he (irat 

With thoMe who b<;ar the Kf'^Jit I'inarian name 

'I'o llcrculeH devoted, in the fj,T<)ve 

ThiH altar built, deeni'd «a<:red in the hiKheMt 

Hy urt, and Hacred (jver to be deeni'd. 

Come, then, my fri(Mid«,and bind your youthful broW« 

In praiae of hucIi deliverance, and hold fui-th 

'J'he brinuning cup ; your diiitiea and ours 

Are now the Hame, tluMi drink, and fn;ely too. 

So (<ayin(r, he twinted round IiIm leverend lockn 

A variet;at(Ml jioplar wreath, and bll'd 

His ri;;ht hand with a conHecratcd bowl. 

At once all j)()ur lihationM on the boaiil. 

All oiler ])rayei-. And now the radiant Hjihere 

Of day dewwtndiiiK, eventiih; drew near. 

Wln;n lirrtt I'otitius with the ])rieHtH advanced, 

IJeniit with HkijiH, and torcluiS in their hands. 

Hi),^h piled with meats of savoury taste, they rungfcd 

The chariijers, and renew'd the (grateful fi?ast. 

'J'hen came the Salii, crown'd with pojdar too, 

Circlinj^ the bla/.infi; altars ; here the youth 

Advanced, a choir harmonious, there were heard 

The reventnd seers resi)r)nsive ; praise they Huug, 

Much ])raise in honour of Alcides' deeds; 

How first with infant p;ripe two serpents hiiKO 

H(; straiifdClitd, sent from Juno; next they sunfc, 

How 'J'roja and (I'lchalia ho destroy'd, 

Fair cities both, and many a toilsome task 

Heneath ICurystheus (no liis stepdame will'd) 

Achieved victorious. Thou, the cbiud born p»ir, 

<108 



MlNOIt I'OKMS. 881 

Hylii'iis (W-ron nutl 1'IioIuh, iitoiiiitroiiH twin* 
'I'lioii Hlftw'Ht lilt) iiiiiiiitaiii', tho ]ila(j;iiH of Ornta 
And dm vimt lion of Hin Ncnii-aii rock ; 
'I'li.t^ It.ll, and C.'iIhmuh, Ii.II'h poitoi', ftmr'il, 
SliTlrliM in lii.s di 11 npon liin liaH'fAnaw'd Ijoiiom. 
'I'licit no aldiorrtnl I'liiin, not n'm tiir varit 
'r\|dto-iiH could a|i|iul, (IiomkIi (lad in ai'ioH. 
Hail, true liorn hum oI' Jove, anionn' thn godH 
At lt^nf;tli rnroll'il, nor li-uHt illiiHtriouH thou, 
llaHtti tlii'O ]iro|)itioiiri, and a}ii)rovo onr Honn'i* : — 
'I'liuK hvnin'd tho (ihoruii ; aliovc all tlniy ^i'lK 
'i'lic rave oC (!a(UH, anil tlio IhuncH hn liri-alh'd. 
Tlu) whido n'rovti cdiooH, and tini liilln rtiioiind. 

'I'ho ritcH iM-rliirni'd, all liaHtin to tlio town. 
'I'lic kin^^, iiinidin^ willi a^c, li<'l>l ad hu w«itt 
/I'lncaM and hid I'allaa by tlm liund, 
With nnii-li variety ol° ]dtmHinpr talk 
Shortening; the way. /lOneaM, «'ith a Hniile, 
l.ookH round liini, chartn'd with the deliKltiritl HCf ne, 
And niitny a (|in-»tion arikn, and ninth hi? learnH 
<)( hi-roert far renown'd in anciint times. 
Ihin H|iake l''vand('r. 'I'heMe eKtt^iiHive ^'riivea 
NN'ti't' oni'it inhabited hy I'auiiH itnd nyni|diH 
I'i'odntted henealh their uhadeH, and a rude race 
Of inen, the |iroKe)iy uncouth of eliuH 
And knotted oakH. 'i'hey no relWitaiient knew 
Cf lawn or niannera civlli'Aed, to yoke 
'Ilie hleer, with forecatU iirovident to titore 
'lilt? hoarded (rain, or manage what they hail, 
Hut lirowHiul like lieaMtH ii|iiin the It^afy hougha, 
Or fed vorai'iiiurt on their hunted ]irey. 
An exile frtuu OlynipiiH, and expell'd 
II in iiativn realm hy thunder hearin(i^ Jove, 
I'ii'Mt Saturn came, lie from the luountuiiifi drew 
'I'hiH hiM-d of intuit unlrartahh? and tierce, 
And Ki've Ihiiii lawn; and , all'd hit* hidint^ place 
'I'hin (growth of foreittri, Latnim. Much the peacu 
II in land poHMeiiMM, the Ridden a(j;e was then, 
So famed in Htory ; till hy hIow de^recM 
I'ar other timcH, and of far dillerent hue, 
Kiicf.i-eded, Ihii'nt of p.old and thirnt of hlood. 
1'hei) rame Aurioiiian handrt, and armed lioiita 



262 MINOR POEMS. 

Prom Sicily, and Latium often changed 
Her master and her name. At leng'th arose 
Kings, of v/hom Tybris of gigantic foi-m 
Was chief ; and we Italians since have call'd 
The river by his name ; thus Albula 
(So was the counti-y call'd in ancient days) 
Was quite forgot. Me from my native land 
An exile, through the dangerous ocean drivenj 
Resistless fortune and relentless fate, 
Placed where thou seest me. Pha-bus, and 
The nymph Carmentis, ^vith maternal care 
Attendant on my wanderings, fix'd me here. 

[Ten lilies omitted.] 

He said, and show'd him the Tarpeian rock, 
And the rude spot where now the capitcl 
Stands all magnificent and bright with gold. 
Then overgrown with thorns. And yet e'en then 
The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe ; 
The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear 
This grove, he said, that crowns the lofty top 
Of this fair hill, some deity, we know. 
Inhabits, but what deity we doubt. 
The Arcadians .speak of Jupiter himself. 
That they have often seen him, shaking here 
His gloomy ^Egis, while the thunder stoi'ms 
Came rolling all around him. Turn thine eyes, 
Behold that iiiin ; those dismantled walls, 

Where once two towns, laniculum , 

By Janus this, and that by Saturn built, 
Satumia. Such discourse brought them beneath 
The roof of poor Evander ; thence they saw. 
Where now the proud and stately forum stands, 
The grazing herds wide scatter'd o'er the field. 
Soon as he enter'd — Hercides, he said. 
Victorious Hercules, on this threshold trod. 
These walls contain'd him, humble as they are. 
Dare to despise magnificence, my friend. 
Prove thy divine descent by worth divine. 
Nor view with haughty scora this mean abode* 
So saying, he led iEneas by the hand, 

700 



MINOR POEMS. 2bS 

And placed him on a cushion stiill'd with leaves. 
Spread with the skin of a Lybistian bear. 

[The Episode of Venus and Vulcan omitted.] 

While thus in Le-mnos Vulcan was employ'd. 
Awaken 'd by the gentle dawn of day, 
And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves 
Of his low mansion, old Evander rose. 
His tunic, and the sandals on hia feet, 
And bis good sword well girded to his side, 
A panther's skin dependent from his left. 
And over his right shoulder thrown aslant. 
Thus was tie clad. Two mastiffs foUow'd him. 
His whole retinue and his nightly guard. 



OVID. TRIST. LIB. V. ELEG. XII. 

Scribis, ut oblectem. 

Yov bid me write to amuse the tedious hours. 

And save from withering my poetic powers ; 

Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow 

From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe ; 

Restless amidst unceasing tempests toss'd. 

Whoe'er has cause for soitow, I have most. 

Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain. 

Or childless Niobe from tears refrain, 

Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train? 

Does grief or study most befit the mind 

To this remote, this barbarous nook confined'? 

Could you impart to my unshaken breast 

The fortitude by Socrates possess'd. 

Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine. 

For what is human strength to wrath divine ? 

Wise as he was, and heaven pronounced him so. 

My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low. 

Could I forget my country, thee and all. 

And e'en the offence to which I owe my fall, 

701 



284 MliNOR I'OEMS. 

Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein, 

Wbile hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain. 

Add that the fatal rust of long disuse 

Unfits me for the service of tlie muse. 

Thistles and weeds are all we can expect 

From the best soil impoverished by neglect; 

Unexercised, and to his stall confined. 

The fleetest racer would be left behind ; 

The best built bark that cleaves the watery way. 

Laid useless by, would moulder and decay — 

No hope remains tliat time shall me restore. 

Mean as I was, to what I was before. 

Think how a series of desponding cares 

Benumbs the genius, and its force impairs. 

How oft, as now, on this deA'oted sheet, 

My verse consti'ain'd to move with measured feet, 

Reluctant and laborious limps along. 

And proves itself a wretched exile's song. 

What is it tunes the most melodious lays T 

'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise, 

A noble thirst, and not unkno'.vn to me, 

M'^hile smoothly wafted on a calmer sea. 

But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame? 

No, rather let the world forget my name. 

Is it because that world approved my strain. 

You prompt me to the same pursuit again 1 

No, let the Nine the ungTateful truth excuse, 

I charge my hopeless iiiin on the muse. 

And, like Perillus, meet my just desert. 

The victim of my own pernicious art; 

Fool that I was to be so wani'd in vain, 

Aiid shipv/reck'd once, to tempt the deep again. 

Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land. 

None to consult, and none to understand. 

The purest verse has no admirers here. 

Their own rude language only suits their ear. 

Rude as it is, at length familiar grown, 

I learn it, and almost unlearn my own — 

Yet to say truth, e'en here the muse disdains 

Confinement, and attempts her fonner strains. 

But finds the strong desire is not the power. 

And what her taste condemns, the flames devour. 

702 



Mlf^OR POEMS. 

A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom. 
And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome 
But oh the cruel jirt, that could undo 
Its TOtary thus I woiild that could perish too ! 



HOR. LIB. I. ODE IX. 

Vides, ut alta etet nive candidum 
Soracte ; . . . . 

See'st thou yon mountain laden with deep snow. 
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow, 

The sti:eams, congreal'd, forget to flow, 
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile 

Of fuel on the hearth ; 
Broach the best cask, and make old winter smile 
With seasonable mirth. 

This be our part — let Heaven dispose the rest 
If Jove command, the winds shall sleep 

That now wage war upon the foamy deep. 
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west. 

E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may. 

When to-morrow's pass'd away. 

We at least shall have to say. 

We have lived another day ; 

Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er, 

Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no 



HOR. LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII. 

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus. 

Boy, I hate their empty shows, 
Persian garlands I detest, 

Bring not me the late-blown rose, 
Lingerir\g' after all the rest. 



703 



MINOR POEMS. 

Plainer myrtle pleases me, 

Thus outstretch 'd beneath my vine; 
Myrtle more becoming thee. 

Waiting with thy master's wine. 



HOR. LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII. 

BOT ! I detest all Persian fopperies. 
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting; 
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee^ 

Where latest roses linger. 
Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily) 
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage 
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking 

Beneath my vine's cool shelter. 



HOR. LIB. 11. ODE XVI. 
Otium Divos rogut in patenti. 

Ease is the weary mei"chant's prayer, 
Who ploughs by night the ^gean flood; 

When neither moon nor stars appear. 
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. 

For ease the Mede with quiver graced. 
For ease the Thracian hero sighs. 

Delightful ease all pant to taste, 
A blessing which no ti-easure buys. 

For neither gold can lull to rest. 
Nor all a Consul's guard beat off 

The tumults of a troubled breast, 
llie cares that haunt a gilded roof. 

Happy the man whose table shows 
A few clean ounces of old plate. 

No fear intrudes on his repose, 
No sordid wishes to be great. 



MINOR POEMS. 

Poor short-lived things, what plans Ave lay ! 

Ah, why forsake our native home ! 
To distant climates speed away ; 

For self sticks close where'er we roam. 

Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes 
The well-rig-g'd ship, the warlike steed 

Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes, 
Not the wind flies with half her speed. 

From anxious fears of future ill 

Guard well the cheerful, happy now ; 

Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile, 
No blessing is unmix'd below. 

Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds. 
Thy numerous flocks around thee graze, 

And the best purple Tyre aflbrds 
Thy robe mag-nificent displays. 

On me indulgent Heaven bestow'd 
A rural mansion, neat and small ; 

This lyre ; — and as for yonder crowd. 
The happiness to hate them all. 



ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MA 
JESTY FROM SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 
17S9. 

O Sovereign of an isle renown "d 

For undisputed sway 
Wherever o'er yon gulf profound 

Her na>'ies wing their v/ay. 

With juster claim she builds at length 

Her empire on the sea, 
And well may boast the waves her strength 

Which strength restored to thee. 



MINOR POEMS. 



ADDRESSED TO MISS ON READING THB 

PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE.* 

And dwells there in a female heart, 

By bounteous heaven design'd. 
The choicest raptures to impart, 

To feel the most refined — 

Dwells there a wish in such a breast 

Its nature to forego. 
To smother in ignoble rest. 

At once both bliss and woe ! 

Far be the thouprht, and far the strain 

Which breathes the low desire. 
How sweet soe'er the verse complain. 

Though Phoebus string the lyre. 

Come, then, fair maid (in nature wise) 

Who, knowing them, can tell 
From generous sympathy what joys 

The glowing bosom sweU : 

In justice to the various powers 

Of pleasing, which you share. 
Join me, amid your silent hours. 

To form the better prayer. 

With lenient balm may Oberon henco 

To fairy land be driven. 
With every herb that blunts the sense 

Mankind received from Vieaven. 

* Oh ! if my sovereign Author please. 

Far be it from my fate 
To live, unbless'd, in torpid ease, 

Ajid slumber on in state. 

• For Mrs. Greville's Oilc, see Annual Kfijlster, vol. v. p. 909. 
700 



MINOR POEMS. 
* Each tender tie of life defied 

Whence social jjleasures spring', 
Unmoved with all the world beside, 

A solitary thijig — ' 

Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow. 

Thus braves the whirling blast, 
Eternal winter doom'd to know. 

No genial spring to taste. 

In vain warm suns their influence shed. 

The zephyrs sport in vain, 
He rears unchanged his baiTen head, 

Whilst beauty decks the plain. 

What thoufh in scaly armour dress'd, 

Indifference may repel 
The shafts of woe — in such a breast 

No joy can ever dwell. 

'Tis woven in the world's great plan, 

And fix'd by heaven's decree. 
That all tue true delights of man 

Should spring from sympathy. 

'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws 

Of nature we retain, 
Our self-approving bosom draws 

A pleasure from its pain. 

Thus g-rief itself has comforts dear 

The sordid never know ; 
And ecstasy attends the tear 

When virtue bids it flow. 

For when it streams from that pure source 

No bribes the heart can win, 
To check, or alter from its cxiiirse. 

The luxury within. 

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves. 

Who, if from labour eHsed, 
Extend no care beyond themselves, 

Unpleasing and unpleased. 
O 



_l 



290 MINOR POEMS. 

Let no low thought sugg-est the prayer, 
Oh 1 grant, kind Heaven, to me 

Long as I draw ethereal air. 
Sweet sensibility. 

Where'er the heavenly nymph i3 seeiQt 

With lustre-beaming eye, 
A train, attendant on their queen, 

(Her rosy chorus) fly. 

The jocund loves in HjTnen's band. 

With torches ever bright. 
And generous friendship hand in handy 

With pity's watery sight: 

The gentler virtues too are join'dT 

In youth immortal warm ; 
The soft relations, which, combined. 

Give life her every charm. 

The arts come smiling in the close, 

And lend celestial fire ; 
The marble breathes, the canvas glows, 

The mubos sweep the lyre. 

' Still may my melting bosom cleave 

To sufferings not my own. 
And still the sigh responsive heave 

Where'er is heard a gxoan. 

• So pity shall take virtue's part. 

Her natural ally. 
And fashioning my soften'd heart. 

Prepare it for the sky.' 

This artless vow may heaven receiveu, 
And you, fond maid, approve : 

So may your guiding angel give 
Whate'er you wish or love. 

80 may the rosy-finger d hours 

Lead on the various year. 
And every joy, which now is yours. 

Extend a larger sphere. 

703 



MINOR POEMS. 291 

/Vnd suns to come, as round they wheel. 

Your golden moments bless 
With all a tender heart can feel> 

Or lively fancy guess. 
1763. 



PROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, 

LATE RECTOR OF ST. MARY WOOLNOTH. 

Says the pipe to the snuffbox, I can't understand 
What the ladie=s and gentlemen see in your fucfy, 

That you are in fashion all over the land, 
And I am so much fallen into disgrace. 

Do but see what a pretty contemplative air 
I give to the company — pray do but note *em — 

You would think that the wise men of Greece were 

all there, [Gotham. 

Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men of 

My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses. 
While you are a nuisance where'er you appear; 

There is nothing but sniveling and blowing of noses. 
Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear. 

Then lifting his lid in a delicate way. 

And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging, 
The box in reply was heard plainly to say, 

What a silly dispute is this we are waging ! 

If you have a little of merit to claim. 

You may thank, the sweet-smelling Virginian weed, 
And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, 

The before mentioned drug in apology plead. 

Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own. 
No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus. 

We ar<3 vehicles, not of tobacco alone, 

But of anything else they may choose to put in us. 

709 



292 MINOR POEMS. 

THE FLATTING MILL. 

AN ILLDSTRATION. 

When a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold 
Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length, 
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roU'd 
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength. 

Tlixis tortured and squeezed, at last it appears 
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show 
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears. 
And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow. 

This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain 
The thump after thump of a gold-beater's malle* 
And at last is of serv'ce in sickness or pain 
To cover a pill for a delicate palate. 

Alas for the poet! who dares undertake 

To urge reformation of national ill — 

His head and his heart are both likely to ache 

With the double employment of mallet and mill. 

If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight. 
Smooth, ductile, and even his fancy must flow. 
Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight. 
And catch in its progress a sensible glow. 

After all he must beat it as thin and as fine 

As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallow* , 

For truth is unwelcome, however divine, 

And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows. 



MINOR POEMS. i 

EPITAPH 
ON A FREE BUT TAME REDBREAST, 

A FAVOURITE OF MISS SALLY HURDIS. 

These are not dew-drops, these are tears. 

And tears by Sally shed 
For absent Robin, who she fears. 

With too much cause, is dead. 

One mom he came not to her hand 

As he was wont to come, 
And, on her finger perch'd, to stand 

Picking his breakfast-crumb. 

Alarm'd, she "all'd him, and perplex 'd 
She sought him, but in vain — 

That day he came not, nor the next, 
Nor ever came again. 

She therelore raised him here a tomb. 
Though where he fell, or how, 

]Sone knows, so secret was his doom, 
Nor where he moulders now. 

Had half a score of coxcombs died 

In social Robin's stead. 
Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried. 

Or haply never shed. 

But Bob was neither rudely bold 

Nor spiritlessly tame ; 
Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, 
B ut always in a flarme. 
Marrli, I7W. 



711 



294 MINOR POEMS. 

SONNET 

ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. 

Hayley — thy tenderness fraternal shown 
In our first interview, delightful guest ! 
To Mary, and me for her dear sake distress'd, 

Such as it is has made my heart thy own, 

Thoug-h heedless now of new engaj;einents grown ; 
For threescore winters make a wintry hreast, 
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest 

Of friendship more, except with God alone. 
But thou hast won me ; nor is God my foe, 

Who, ere this last afflictive scene began, 
Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, 
My brother, by whose sympathy I know 

Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, 

Not more to admire the bard than love the man. 
June 2, 1792. 



AN EPITAPH. 



Here lies one who never drew 
Blood himself, yet many slew ; 
Gave the gun its aim, and fig-ure 
Made in field, yet ne'er puU'd trigger. 
Armed men have gladly made 
Him theii guide, and him obey'd; 
At his signified desire 
Would advance, present, and fire — 
Stout he was, and large of limb, 
Scores have fled at sight of him 1 
And to all this fame he rose 
Only following his nose. 
Neptune was he call'd, not he 
Wto controls the boisterous sea. 



MINOR POEM.S 295 

Bnt of happier command, 
Neptune of the fuirow'd land ; 
And, your wonder vain to shorten. 
Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton. 



ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE. 

In language wanm as could be breath'd or penn'4 
Thy picture speaks the original my friend. 
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind — 
They only speak thee friend of all mankind ; 
Expression here more soothing still 1 see, 
riiat friend of all a partial friend to me. 
January, 1793. 



ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER. 

DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SBAT. 

Thrive, gentle plant ! and weave a bower 

For Mary and for me, 
And deck with many a splendid flower 

Thy foliage large and free. 

Thou earnest from Eartham, and wilt shadf. 

(If truly I divine 
Some futvire day the illustrious head 

Of him who made thee mine. 

Should Daphne show a jealous frown, 

And envy seize the bay, 
Affirming none so fit to crown 

Such honour'd brows as they. 

Thy cause with zeal we shall defend 
And with convincing power; 

For why should not the virgin's fiiend 

Be croAvn'd with virgin's bower ? 
fetirin^ of 1793, 



« 1. 



ria 



296 iniNOR POEMS 

ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL 

FROM MR. HAYLEY. 

I SHOULD have deem'd it once an effort vain 
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain. 
But from that error now behold me free 
Since I received him as a gift from thee. 
Oct. 1793. 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM RUSSELL 

Doom'd as I am in solitude to waste 

The present moments, and regret the past j 

Deprived of every joy I valued most, 

My friend torn from me and my mistress lost ; 

Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, 

The dull effect of business or of spleen; 

Still, still, I mourn, with each returning day. 

Him snatch'd by fate in early youth away ; 

And her through tedious years of doubt and paj» 

Fix'd in her choice, and faithful, but in vain. 

O prone to pity, generous and sincere. 

Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear ; 

Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows, 

Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes ; 

See me, ere yet my destined course half done, 

Cast forth a wanderer on a world imknown ; 

See me neglected on the world's rude coast. 

Each dear companion of my voyage lost; 

Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow. 

And ready tears wait only leave to flow ; 

Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free. 

All that delights the happy, palls with me. 



EPIGRAM 
ON HIS MISTAKE IN TRANSLATING HOMEIl 

CovvpEU had sinn'd with some excuse, 

If, bound in rhyming tethers 
He had committed this abuse 

Of changing ewos for wethers ; 

But, male for female is a trope. 

Or rather l)old misnomer. 
That would have startled even Pcpe, 

When he translated Homer 

7H 



MINOR POliMS. 29f 



ANTI-THELYPHTHORA. 

A TALE, IN VERSE. 

Ah miser. 
Quanta laboras in CharybUi \—Hor, lib. i. Ode ft 

Airy del Castro was as bold a knight 

As ever earn'd a lady's love in fight. 

Many he sought, but one above the rest 

His tender heart victoriously impress'd ; 

In fairy-land was born the matchless dame. 

The land of dreams, Hypothesis her name. 

There Fancy nursed her in ideal bowers. 

And laid her soft in amaranthine flowers ; 

Delighted with her babe, the enchantress smiled. 

And graced with all her gifts the favourite child. 

Her woo'd Sir Airy, by meandering streams, 

In daily musings and in nightly dreams ; 

With all the flowers he found, he wove in haste 

Wreathes for her brow, and gir-dles for her waist; 

His time, his talents, and his ceaseless care 

All consecrated to adorn the fair ; 

No pastime but with her he deign'd to take, 

And, — if he studied, studied for her .sake. 

And, for Hypothesis was somewhat long. 

Nor soft enough to suit a lover's tongue, 

He call'd her Posy, with an amorous art, 

And graved it on a gem, and wore it next his heart 

But she, inconstant as the beams that play 
On rippling waters in an April day, 
With many a freakish trick deceived his pains, 
To pathless wilds and unfrequented plains 
Enticed him from his oaths of knighthood far. 
Forgetful of the glorious toils of war. 
'Tis thus the tenderness that love inspires 
Too oft betrays the votaries of his fires j 
Borne far away on elevated wings. 
They sport like wanton doves in airy, rings, 
And laws and duties are neglected things. 

Nor he alone address'd the wayward fair; 
Full many a knight had been entangled there. 
But still, whoever woo'd her or embraced. 
On every mind some mighty spell she cast. 
Some she would teach (for she was wondroui wise, 
And made her dupes see all things with her eyea) 
That forms material, whatsoe'er we dream. 
Are not at all, or are not what they seem ; 
That substances and modes of every kind 
Are mere impressions on the passive mind ; 
02 

716 



298 MINOR POEMS. 

And he that splits his cranium, breaks at mo.\-i 
A fancied head against a fancied post : 
Others, that earth, ere sin had drown'd it all, 
Was smooth and even as an ivory ball ; 
That all the various beauties we survey, 
Hills, valleys, rivers, and tne boundless sea, 
Are but departures from the first design, 
Effects of punishment and v?rath divine. 
She tutor'd some in Daedalus's art, 
And promised they should act his wildgoose part. 
On waxen pinions soar without a fall. 
Swift as the proudest gander of them all. 

But fate reserved Sir Airy to maintain 
The wildest project of her teeming brain ; 
That wedlock is not rigorous as supposed, 
But man, within a wider pale enclosed. 
May rove at will, where appetite shall lead. 
Free as the lordly bull that ranges o'er the mead ; 
That forms and rites are tricks of human law. 
As idle as the chattering of a daw ; 
That lewd incontinence and lawless rape. 
Are marriage in its true and proper shape; 
i'hat man by faith and truth is made a slave, 
The ring a bauble and the priest a knave. 

Fair fall the deed ! the knight e.Kulting cried. 
Now is the time to make the maid a bride ! 

'Twas on the noon of an autumnal day, 
October hight, but mild and fair as May ; 
When scarlet fruits tlie russet hedge adorn, 
And floating films envelop every thorn; 
When gently as in June, the rivers glide. 
And only miss the flowers that graced their side j 
The linnet twitler'd out his parting song, 
With many a chorister the woods among; 
On southern banks the ruminating sheep 
Lay snug and warm ; — 'twas summer's farewell peop. 
Propitious to his fond intent there grew 
An arbour near at hand of thickest yew. 
With many a boxen bush, close dipt between. 
And phillyrea of a gilded green. 

But what old Chaucer's merry page befits, 
The chaster muse of modem days omits. 
Suffice it then in decent terms to say. 
She saw, and turn'd her rosy cheek away. 
Small need of prayer-book or of priest, 1 ween. 
Where parties are agreed, retired the scene, 
Occasion prompt, and appetite so keen. 
Hypothesis (for with such magic power 
Fancy endued her in her natal hour) 
From many a steaming lake and reeking bog, 
Bale rise in haste a dank and drizzling fog. 

Tie 



MINOR POEMS. 299 

That curtain'd round the scene whei-e they reposed, 
And wood and lawn in dusky folds enclosed. 

Fear seized the trembling sex ; in every grove 
They wept the wrongs of honourable love. 
In vain, they cried, are hymeneal rites. 
Vain our delusive hope of constant knights; 
The marriage bond has lost its power to bind, 
And flutters loose, the sport of every wind. 
The bride, while yet her bride's attire is on, 
Shall mourn her absent lord, for he is gone, 
Satiate of her, and weary of the same, 
To distant wilds, in quest of other game. 
Ye fair Circassians ! all your lutes employ, 
Seraglios sing, and harems dance for joy ! 
For British nymphs whose lords were lately true, 
Nymphs quite as fair, and happier once than you, 
Honour, esteem, and confidence forgot, 
Feel all the meanness of your slavish lot. 
O curst Hypothesis! your hellish arts 
Seduce our husbands, and estrange their heartt. 
Will none arise ? no knight who still retains 
The blood of ancient worthies in his veins. 
To assert the charter of the chaste and fair. 
Find out her treacherous heart, and plant a dagger 

there ! 
A knight— (can he that serves the fair do less ?) 
Starts at the call of beauty in distress ; 
And he that does not, whatsoe'er occurs, 
Is recreant, and unworthy of his spurs. 

Full many a champion, bent on hardy deed, 
Call'd for his arms and for his princely steed. 
So swarm 'd the Sabine youth, and grasp'd the shield, 
When Roman rapine, by no laws witliheld. 
Lest Rome should end with her first founders' lives, 
Made half their maids, sans ceremony, wives. 
But not the mitred few, the soul their charge, 
They left these bodily concerns at large j 
Forms or no forms, pluralities or pairs, 
Right reverend sirs ! was no concern of theirs. 
The rest, alert and active as became 
A courteous knighthood, caught the generouo {Iam« ; 
One was accoutred when the cry began, 
Knight of the Silver Moon, Sir Marmadan. 

Oft as his patroness, who rules the night. 
Hangs out her lamp in yon caerulcan height. 
His vow was (and he well perform'd his vow), 
Arm'd at all points, with terror on his brow. 
To judge the land, to purge atrocious crimes, 
And quril the shapeless monsters of the timet. 
For cedars famed, fair Lebanon supplied 
The weJl-poiscd lance that quiver'd at his side j 



300 MINOR POEMS. 

Truth arm'd it with a point so Iteen, so.jus':, 
No spell or charm was proof against the thrust 
He couch'd it firm upon his puissant thigh. 
And darting through his helm an eagle's eye, 
On all the wings of chivalry advanced 
To where the fond Sir Airy lay entranced. 

lie dreamt not of a foe, or if his fear 
Foretold one, dreamt not of a foe so near. 
Far other dreams his feverish mind employ'd, 
Of rights restored, variety enjoy'd ; 
Of virtue loo well fenced to fear a flaw ; 
Vice passing current by the stamp of lawj 
Large population on a liberal plan. 
And woman trembling at the foot of man 5 
How simple wedlock fornication works, 
And Christians marrying may convert the Turks. 

The trumpet now spoke Marmadan at hand, 
A trumpet that was heard through all the land. 
His high-bred steed expands his nostrils wide. 
And snorts aloud to cast the mist aside j 
But he, the virtues of his lance to show, 
Struck thrice the point upon his saddle-bow ; 
Three sparks ensued that chased it all away, 
And set the unseemly pair in opon day. 
■ To horse !' he cried, ' or, by this good right hand 
And better spear, 1 smite you where you stand.' 

Sir Airy, not a whit dismay'd or scared. 
Buckled his helm, and to his steed repair'd ; 
Whose bridle, while he cropp'd the grass below, 
Hung not far off upon a myrtle bough. 
He mounts at once, — such confidence infused 
The insidious witch that had his wits abused; 
And she, regardless of her softer kind. 
Seized fast the saddle and sprang up behind. 
' Oh shame to knighthood!' his assailant cried; 
' Oh shame!' ten thousand echoing nymphs replird 
I'Vtced with advantage at his listening ear. 
She whisper'd still that he had nought to fear ; 
That he was cased in such enchanted steel. 
So polish'd and compact from head to heel, 
' Come ten, come twenty, should an array call 
Thee to the field, thou shouldst withstand them alL' 

'By Dian's beams,' Sir Marmadan exclaim'd, 
'The guiltiest still are ever least ashamed! 
But guard thee well, expect no feign'd attack ; 
And guard beside the sorceress at thy back!' 

He spoke indignant, and his spurs applied, 
Though little need, to his good palfrey's side; 
The barb sprang forward, and his lord, whose fdVOi 
Was equal to the swiftness of his horse, 

71S 



MINOR POEMS. SOI 

Rush'd with a whirlwind's fury on the foe. 
And, Phineas-likc, transfix'd them at a blow. 

Then sang the married and the maiden throng 
Love graced the theme, and harmony the song; 
The Fauns and Satyrs, a lascivious race, 
Shriek'd at the sight, and, conscious, fled the place: 
And Hymen, trimming his dim torch anew, 
His snowy mantle o'er his shoulders threw ; 
He turn'd, and view'd it oft on every side. 
And reddenmg with a just and generous pride, 
Bless'd the glad beams of that propitious day, 
The spot he loath'd so much for ever cleansed away. 



THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS; 

OR, 

LABOUR IN VAIN. 

AK EXCELLENT NEW SONG, TO A TONE NEVER SONG BBFOBA 
\. 

I SING of a journey to Clifton, 

We would have perform'd if we could. 
Without car or barrow to lift on 

Poor Mary and me through the mud : 
Slee sla slud, 
Stuck in the mud, 
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood! 

2. 
So away we went slipping and sliding. 
Hop, hop, d la mode de deux frogs, 
'Tis near as good walking as riding. 
When ladies are dressed in their clogs. 
Wheels, no doubt. 
Go briskly about. 
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a POUtt 

3. 

SHE. 

Well! now I protest it is charming; 

How tinely the weather improves I 
That cloud, though, is rather alarming j 

How slowly and stately it moves. 



02 MINOR POEMS. 

HE. 

Pshaw ! never mind ; 
'Tis not in the wind ; 
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind 

4. 

SHE, 

I am clafi we are come for an airing, 
For folks may be pounded and penn'd, 

Until they grow rusty, not caring 
To stir half a mile to an end. 

HE. 

The longer we stay. 

The longer we may ; 

It'g a folly to think about weather or way. 

5. 

SHE. 

But now I begin to be frighted : 
If I fall, what a way I shouid roll ! 

I am glad that the bridge was indicted,— 
Stop I stop! I am sunlc in a hole! 

HE. 

Nay, never care ! 
'Tis a common affair ; 
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there. 



SHE. 

Let me breathe now a little, and ponder 

On what it were better to do. 
That terrible lane, I see yonder, 

I think we shall never get through I 

HE. 

So think I ; 
But, by the bye. 
We never shall know, if we never should try. 



SHE. 

But should we get there, how shall we get home ? 
What a terriide deal of bad road we have past, 
Slipping and sliding; and if we should come 
To a difficult stile, I am ruin'd at last 
Oil this lane! 
Now it is plain 
That struggling and striving is labour m vaia 



MINOR POEMS. 

a 

HB. 

Stick fast there, while I go &nd look. 

SHE. 

Don't go away, for fear I should fall ! 

HE. 

I have examined it every nook, 

And what you have here is a sample of all. 
Come, wheel round ; 
The dirt we have found 
Would be an estate at a farthing a pound. 



Now, Sister Anne, the guitar you must take 5 

Set it. and sing it, and make it a song. 
I have varif^d the verse for variety sake, 
And cut It off short, because it was long. 
*Tis hobbling and lame, 
Wiiich critics won't blame. 
For the sense and the sound, they say, should be 
same. 



OF HIMSELF. 

TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWPER. 

William was once a bashful youth ; 

His modesty was such. 
That one might say (to say the truth) 

He rather had too much. 

Some said that it was want of sense, 

And others want of spirit, 
(So blest a thing is impudence) 

While others could not bear it. 

But some a different notion had, 
And at each other winking. 

Observed, that though he little said. 
He paid it off with thinking. 

Howe'er it happen'd, by degrees, 
He mended, and grew perterj 

In company, was more at ease. 
And dress'd a little smarter; 



904 MINOR POEMS. 

Nay, now and then would look quite gay. 

As other people do ; 
And sometimes said, or tried to say, 

A witty thing or so. 

He eyed the vromen, and made free 
To comment on their shapes ; 

So that there was, or seem'd to be, 
No fear of a relapse. 

The women said, who thought him rough. 

But now no longer foolish, 
'The creature may do well enough, 

But wants a deal of polish.* 

At length, improved from head to heel, 
'Twere scarce too much to say, 

No dancing bear was so genteel, 
Or half so digagi. 

Now, that a miracle so strange 

May not in vain be shown. 
Let the dear maid who wrought the change 

Even claim him for her own. 



WRITTEN 
AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW BURN& 

How quick the change from joy to woe! 
How chequer'd is our lot below ! 
Seldom we view the prospect fair ; 
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care, 
(Some pleasing intervals between) 
Scowl over more than half the scene. 
La.st week with Delia, gentle maid. 
Far hence in happier fields I stray'A 
Five suns successive rose and set. 
And saw no monarch in his state, 
Wrapp'd in the blaze of majesty, 
So free from every care as I. — 
Next day the scene was overcast ; 
Such day till then I never pass'd,— 
For on that day, relentless fate I 
Delia and I must separate. 
Yet ere we look'd our last farewell. 
From her dear lips this comfort fell: 
' Fear not that time, where'er we rove 
Or absence, shall abate my love.» 



721 



MINOR POEMS. 305 

CTompIimentarB ^oems to J^llUon, 

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN AND ITALIAN 



THE NEAPOLITAN, JOHN BAPTIST MANSO, 

MARQUIS OF VILLA, 

TO THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON. 
What features, form, mien, manners, with a mind 
O how intelligent ! and how refined ! 
Were but thy piety from fault as free, 
Thou would'st no Angle but an Angel be. 



AN EPIGRAM 

ADDRESSED TO THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON, A POET 

WORTHY OF THREE LAURELS, THE GRECIAN, LATIN, 

AND ETRUSCAN, BY JOHN SALSILLI, OF ROM?. 

Meles and Mincio, both your urns depress" 
Sebetus, boast henceforth thy Tasso less ! 
But let the Thames o'erpeer all floods, since he 
For Milton famed shall, single, match the three. 



TO JOHN MILTON. 
Greece, sound thy Homer's, Rome, thy Virgil's name. 
But England's Milton equals both in fame. 

Selvaggi. 



AN ODE 

ADDRESSED TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS ENGLISHMAN, i«B. 

JOHN MILTON, BY SIGNOR ANTONIO FRANCINI, 

gentleman, OF FLORENCE. 

Exalt me, Clio, to the skies. 

That I may form a starry crown 
Beyond what Helicon supplies 
In laureate garlands of renown ; 
To nobler worth be brighter glory given 
And to a heavenly mind a recompense from heaven. 



806 MINOR FOEMS. 

Time's wasteful hunger cannot prey 

On eyerlasting high desert. 
Nor can oblivion steal away 
Its record graven on the heart ; 
Lodge btit an arrow, virtue, on the bow 
Ti.at binds my lyre, and death shall be a ranqulsh'd 
foe. 

In ocean's blazing flood enshrined 

Whose vassal tide around her swells, 
Albion, from other climes disjoin'd, 
The prowess of the world excels; 
She teems with heroes, that to glory rise. 
With more than human force in our astonish'd eyei. 

To virtue, driven from other lands. 

Their bosom yields a safe retreat j 
Her law alone the deed commands : 
Her smiles they feel divinely sweet. 
Confirm my record, Milton, generous youth 1 
And by true virtue prove thy virtue's praise a truth. 

Zeuxis, all energy and flame, 

Set ardent forth in his career; 
Urged to his tasli by Helen's fame 
Resounding ever in his ear ; 
To make his image to her beauty true. 
From the collected fair each sovereign charm he drew. 

The bee, with subtlest skill endued. 

Thus toils to earn her precious juice 
From all the flowery myriads strew'd 
O'er meadow and parterre, profuse ; 
Confederate voices one sweet air compound, 
And various chords consent in one harmonious sound. 

An artist of celestial aim, 

Tliy genius caught by moral grace, 
With ardent emulation's flame 
The steps of virtue toil'd to trace. 
Observed in every land who brightest shone. 
And, blending all their best, made perfect good thy 



From all, in Florence bom, or taught 
Our country's sweetest accent there, 
Whose works, with learned labour wrought, 
Immortal honours justly share. 
Thou hast such treasure drawn of purest ore, 
lliat not even Tuscan bards can boast a richer storft 



MINOR POEMS. iffl 

Babel confused, and with her towers 

Unfinish'd spreading wide the plain, 
Has served but to evince thy powers 
With all her tongues confused in vain, 
Since not alone Ihy England's purest phrase 
But every polished realm thy various speech displaya. 

The secret things of heaven and earth 

By nature, too reserved, conceal'd 
From other minds of highest worth, 
To thee are copiously reveal'd ; 
Thou know'st them clearly, and thy views attain 
The utmost bounds prescribed to moral truths' domaia 

Let time no more his wing display. 

And boast his ruinous career, 
For virtue rescued from his sway 
His injuries may cease to fear ; 
Since all events, that claim remembrance, find 
A chronicle exact in thy capacious mind. 

Give me, that T may praise thy song. 

Thy lyre, by which alone I can, 
"Which, placing thee the stars among. 
Already proves thee more than man ; 
And Thames shall seem Permessus, wliile his stream 
Graced with a swan like thee, shall be ray favourite 
theme. 

I, who, beside the Arno, strain 

To match thy merit with my lays. 
Learn, after many an effort vain. 
To admire thee rather than to praise 
And that by mute astonishment alone, 
Not by the faltering tongue, thy wo rth may best bs 
showa 



ADAM; 

A SACRED DRAMA. 

TRANSLATED 
rROM THE ITALl/.N OF GIO. BATTISTA ANDREmij 

BY COWPER AND HAYLEY 



TO THE COURTEOUS READER. 

Having safiated and fatigued my eyes, gentle reader, 
by too intent an observation of what is passing on earth j 
and raising therefore my thoughts to higher contempla- 
tions, to the wonders diffused by the supreme Being, 
for the benefit of man, through the universe; I felt my 
heart penetrated by a certain Christian compunction, in 
reflecting how his inexpressible goodness, though per. 
petually and grievously offended by us, still shows itself 
in the highest degree indulgent towards us in preserving 
those wonders with a continual influence to our advan- 
tage ; and how, on the first provocation to vengeance. 
Almighty Power does not enlarge the ocean to pass its 
immense boundary, does not obscure the light of the 
sun, docs not impress sterility on the earth, to ingulf us, 
to blind us, and finally to destroy us. Softened and ab- 
sorbed in these divine emotions, I felt myself transported 
and hurried by a delightful violence into a terrestrial 
paradise, where 1 seemed to behold the first man Adam, 
a creature dear to God, the friend of angels, the heir of 
heaven, familiar with the stars, a compendium of all 
created things, the ornament of all, the miracle of na- 
ture, the lord of the animals, the only inhabitant of the 
universe, and enjoyer of a scene so wonderfully grand. 
Whence charmed more than ever, 1 resolved, with the 
favour of the blessed God, to usher into the light of toe 
world, what I bore in the darkness of my imagination ; 
both to render it known in some measure, that, I know 
myself, and the infinite obligations that I have to God; 
and that others, who do not know, may learn, the true 
nature of man, and from the low contemplation of 
earthly things, may raise their minds to things celestial 
and divine. 

1 remained however a considerable time in doubt if I 
ought, or if I were able to undertake a composition 
most diflicuU to mc on many accounts, since in begin- 



ADAM : A SACRED DRAMA. 309 

ning the sacred subject from man's creation to the point 
where he is driven from the terrestrial paradise, & 
period of six years (as St. Augustin relates m his book 
on the City of God), I did not clearly perceive, how an 
action so brief, could be formed into five acts, espe- 
cially allowing to every act the number of at least six 
or seven scenes, — difficult from the dispute that the devil 
maintained with Eve, first that he might induce her to 
eat the apple, since we have only the text that mentions 
it, in saying ' nequaquam moriemini, et eritis sicut Dii 
scientes bonum et malum,'' — difficult from the words 
of Eve in persuading Adam (who had indeed the gift 
of knowledge infused) to taste the apple ; — but difficult 
above all. from my own infirmity, since the composition 
must remain deprived of those poetic ornaments, so 
dear to the muses: deprived of the power to draw 
comparisons from implements of art introduced in the 
course of years, since in the time of the first man there 
was no such tiling : deprived also of naming (at least 
while Adam speaks, or discourse is held with him), for 
example, bows, arrows, hatchets, urns, knives, swords, 
spears, trumpets, drums, trophies, banners, lists, ham. 
mers, torches, bellows, funeral piles, theatres, exchequers, 
infinite things of a like nature, introduced by the ne- 
cessities of sin ; and yet, as circumstances of affliction 
and punishment, they ought not to pass through the 
mind or through the lips of Adam, although he had 
knowledge infused into him, as one who lived most 
happy in a state of innocence : deprived moreover of 
introducing points of history sacred or profane, of re- 
lating fictions of fabulous deities, of rehearsing loves, 
furies, sports of hunting or fishing, triumphs, shipwrecks, 
conflagrations, enchantments, and things of a like nature, 
that are in truth the ornament and the soul of poetry : 
difficult from not knowing in what style Adam ought 
to speak, since in respect to his knowledge it might be 
proper to assign to him verses of a high majestic and 
flowing style ; but considering him as a shepherd and 
inhabitant of the woods, it appears that he should be 
simple and sweet in his discourse, and I endeavoured 
on that account to render it such, as much as I could, 
by variety of versification. And here taking courage in 
my greatest doubt, I formed, I know not how, a begin 
ning; I advanced, if I may say so, without any deter 
mined plan ; and arrived at the end before I was aware. 
Whence I am inclined to believe that the favour of 
Ctod, regarding rather my good intention than my de- 
fects (for as he often withdraws the heart of man from 
evil, so he conducts it insensibly to good), gave direction 



SIO ADAM : 

to my hand, and completed my work. Wherefore to 
*hat alone I am indebted for the little grace that may 
perhaps be found in the present labour; knowing:, that as 
Omnipotence is accustomed to produce wonders from the 
rude and unformed chaos, so, from the still ruder chaos 
of my mind, it may have called forth this production, if 
not for any other purpose, yet to be sacred, and to make 
as it were a mute speak in my person, in despite of 
poverty of genius, as on the other hand it is accustomed 
to strike mute the most eloquent ton^ies when they em- 
ploy themselves on subjects low and profane. Let it be 
surveyed, therefore, with an eye of indulgence, and 
blame not the poverty of style, the want of dignity in 
the conduct of the circumstances, sterility of conceits, 
weakness of spirit, insipid jokes, and extravagant epi- 
sodes, to mention (without speaking of an infinitude of 
other things) that the world, the flesh, and the devil, 
present themselves in human shapes to tempt Adam, 
since there was then in the universe no other man or 
woman, and the serpent discovered himself to Eve with 
a. human similitude; moreover this is done, that the 
subject may be comprehended by the understanding 
through the medium of the senses : since the great 
temptations that Adam and Eve at once sustained, were 
indeed in the interior of their own mind, but could not 
be so comprehended by the spectator ; nor is it to be 
believed that the serpent held a long dispute with Eve, 
since he tempted her rather by a suggestion to her 
mind than by the conference, saying these words, ' ne- 
quaquam moriemini, et eritis sicut Dii scientes bonum 
et malum' and yet it will be necessary, in order to ex. 
press those internal contentions, to find some expedient 
to give them an outward representation. But, if it is 
permitted to the painter, who is a dumb poet, to express 
by colours God the Father under the person of a man sil- 
vered by age, and to describe under the image of a white 
dove the purity of the Spirit, and to figure the divine 
messengers, or angels, in the shape of winged youths ; 
why is it not permitted to the poet, who is a speaking 
painter, to represent in his theatrical production another 
man and another woman besides Adam and Eve, and to 
represent their internal conflicts through the medium of 
images and voices entirely human? not to mention that 
it appears more allowable to introduce in this work the 
devil under a human shape, than it is to introduce into it 
the Eternal Father, and even an angel ; and if this is per- 
mitted, and seen every day exhibited in sacred represen- 
tations, why should it not be allowed in the present, where, 
it the greater evil is allowable, surely the lesser .should 



A SACRED DRAMA. 311 

be allowed ? Attend therefore, gentle reader, more to the 
substance than to the accident, considering in the work 
the great end of introducing into the theatre of the soul 
the misery and lamentation of Adam, to make your 
heart a spectator of them, in order to raise it from 
these dregs of earth, to the magnificennt» 'if heaven, 
through the medium of virtue and the assistance of God; 
by whom may you be blessed ! 



THE CHARACTERa 

Chorus of Seraphim, Cherubim, and Ang9ls, 

The Archangel Michael. 

Adam. 

Eve. 

A Cherub, the Guardian of Adam. 

LUOIFER. 

Satan. 
Beelzebub. 
Seven M.ortal Sins. 
The World. 
The Flesh. 
Famine. 
Labour. 
Despair. 
Death. 
Vain Glory. 
The Serpent. 

VoLANo, an Tnfernal Messenger. 
A Chorus of Phantoms. 

A Chorus of Fiery, Airy, Aquatic, aitd Inf«m«1 
Spirits. 



ADAM. 



CHORUS OF ANGELS 

SINGING THE GLORY OF GOD. 

To heaven's bright lyre let Iris be the bow. 

Adapt the spheres for chords, for iiotfes the suurs:^ 
Let new-born gales discriminate the bars, 
Nor let old time to measure times be slow. 

Hence to new music of the eternal lyre 
Add richer harmony and praise to praise ; 
For him who now his wondrous might displays, 
And shows the universe its awful Sire. 

O Thou who, ere the world or heaven was made. 
Didst in thyself, that world, that heaven enjoy, 
How does thy bounty all its powers employ ; 
What inexpressive good hast thou display'dl 

O Thou of sovereign love almighty source, 
"Who know'st to make thy works thy love express 
Let pure devotion's fire the soul possess, 
And give the heart and hand a kindred force. 

Then shalt thou hear how, when the world began, 
Thy life.producing voice gave myriads birth, 
Call'd forth from nothing all in heaven and earth, 
Bless'd in thy light as eagles in the sun. 



ACT I. 

SCENE THE FIRST. 

God the Father — Chords op Angels. 

Raise from this dark abyss thy horrid visage, 

O Lucifer! aggrieved by light so potent. 

Shrink from the blaze of these refulgent planets, 

And pant beneath the rays of no fierce nm j 

Read in the sacred volumes of the sky. 

The mighty wonders of a hand divine. 

Behold, thou frantic rebel. 

How easy is the task, 

To the great Sire of Worlds, 

To r^ise his empyrean seat sublime: 



ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA. 318 

Lifting iiumility 

Thither whence pride hath fallen. 

From thence with bitter grief, 

Inhabitant of fire, and mole of darkness. 

Let the perverse behold, 

Despairing his escape and my compassion, 

His own perdition in another's good, 

And heaven, now closed to him, to others open'd; 

And, sighing from the bottom of his heart, 

Let him in homage to my power exclaim. 

Ah, this creative Sire, 

(Wretch as I am !) I see. 

Hath need of nothing but himself alone 

To re-establish all. 

THE SERAPHIM SING. 

O scene worth heavenly musing, 

With sun ard moon their glorious light diffusing; 

Where to angelic voices, 

Sphere circling sphere rejoices. 

How dost thou rise, exciting 

Man to fond contemplation 

Of his benign creation! 

THE CHERUBIM SING. 

The volume of the stars 

The sovereign Author plann'd, 

Inscribing it with his eternal hand. 

And his benignant- aim 

Their beams in lucid characters proclaim j 

And man in these delighting. 

Feels their bright beams inviting. 

And seems, though prison'd in these mortal bars, 

Walking on earth, to mingle with the stars, 

GOD THE FATHER *« 

Angels, desert your heaven ! with you to earth 

That Power descends, whom heaven accompanies j 

Let each spectator of these works sublime 

Behold, with meek devotion. 

Earth into flesh transforra'd, and clay to man, 

Man to a sovereign lord. 

And souls to Seraphim. 

THE SERAPHIM SING. 

Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold ; 
The world be paradise. 
Since to its fruitful breast 

Now the great Sovereign of our quire descends) 
Now let us cleare the sky with wings of gold ; 
P 

731 



314 ADAM : 

Strew yourselves flowers beneath the step divine. 

Ye rivals of the stars ! 

Summon'd from every sphere. 

Ye gems of heaven, heaven's radiant wealth appear; 

Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold! 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Behold, ye springing herbs and new-born flowers, 

The step that used to press the stars alone 

And the sun's spacious road, 

This day begins, along the sylvan scene, 

To leave its grand impression : 

To low materials now I stretch my hand^ 

To form a work sublime. 

THE ANGELS SING. 

Lament, lament in anguish, 

Angel to God rebellious ! 

See, on a sudden rise 

The creature doom'd to fill thy radiant seat! 

Foolish thy pride took fire 

Contemplating thy birth ; 

But he o'er pride shall triumph, 

Acknowledging he sprunsi from humble dust 

From hence he shall acquire 

As much as thou hast lost ; 

Since the Supreme Inhabitant of heaven 

Receives the humble and dethrones the proud. 

GOD THE father; 

Adam, arise, since I to thee impart 

A spirit warm from my benignant breath ; 

Arise, arise, first man, 

And joyous let the world 

Embrace its living miniature in thee! 

Adam. O marvels new, O hallow'd, O diriiM^ 
Eternal object of the angel host : 
Why do I not possess tongues numerous 
As now the stars in heaven ? 
Now then, before 
A thing of earth so mean, 
See I the great Artificer divine ? 
Mighty Ruler supernal, 
If 'tis denied this tongue 
To match my obligation with my thanks. 
Behold my heart's aff"ection, _.„t^ 

And hear it speaking clearer than my tongue^ ' - 

And to thee bending lower 
Than this my humble knee. 
Now, now, O Lord, in ecstacy devout. 



A SACRED DRAMA. 315 

Let my mind mount, and passing all the cloudSi 
Passing each sphere, even up to heaven ascend. 
And there behold the stars, a se^at for man I 
Tnou Lord, vho all the fire of genuine love 
Gonvertest to thyself, 
Transform me into thee, that I a part 
Even of thyself, may thus acquire the powei 
To offer praises not unworthy thee. 

THE ANGELS SING. 

To smile in paradise, 

Great demi-god of earth, direct thy step; 

There, like the tuneful spheres, 

Circle the murmuring rills 

Of limpid water bright ; ^ 

There the melodious birds 

Rival angelic quires ; 

There lovely flowers profuse 

Appear as vivid stars ; 

The snowy rose is there 

A silver moon, the heliotrope a sun : 

What more can be desired, 

By earth's new lord in fair corporeal vest. 

Than in the midst of earth to find a heaven ? 

Adam. O ye harmonious birds! 
Bright scene of lovely flowers I 
But what delightful slumber 
Falls on my closing eyes ? 
I lay me down, adieu 
Unclouded light of day, sweet air adieu I 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, behold I come. 

Son dear to me, thou son 

Of an indulgent sire ; 

Behold the hand that never works in vain : 

Behold the hand that join'd the elements. 

That added heaven to heavens. 

That flU'd the stars with light. 

Gave lustre to the moon. 

Prescribed the sun his course. 

And now supports the world. 

And forms a solid stage for thy firm step. 

Now sleeping, Adam, from thy open'd side 

The substance I will take. 

That shall have vroman's name, and lovely fomiL 

THE ANGELS SING. 

Immortal works of an immortal Maker! 
Ye hig-h and bless(>d seats 



816 ADAM : 

Of this delightful world, 

Ye starry seats of heaven, 

Trophies divine, productions pre-ordain'd : 

O power! O energy! 

Which out of shadowy horror form'd the sun ! 

Eve. What heavenly melody pervades my heart« 
Ere yet the sound my ear ! inviting me 
To gaze on wonders, what do I behold, 
What transformations new j 
Is earth become the heaven ? 
Do I behold His light 

Whose splendour dazzles the meridian sun ? 
Am I the creature of that plastic hand. 
Who form'd of nought the angels and the heavens ? 
Thou sovereign Lord! whom lowly I adore, 
A love so tender penetrates my heart. 
That while my tongue ventures on utterance, 
The words with difficulty 
Find passage from my lips j 
For in a tide of tears 

(That sighs have caused to flow) they seem absorb'd 
Thou pure celestial love 
Of the benignant power. 
Who pleased to manifest on earth his glory. 
Now to this world descends. 
To draw from abject clay 
The governor of all created things : 
Lord of the hallow'd and conceal'd affection. 
Thou in whom love glows with such fervent flame, 
Inspirit even my tongue 
With suitable reply, that these dear vales 
And sylvan scenes may hear 
Thanks, that to thee I should devote, my Sire; 
But if my tongue be mute, speak thou, my heart 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, awake! and cease 

To meditate in rapturous trance profound 

Things holy and abstruse, 

And the deep secrets of the Trinal Lord 

Adam. Where am I ? where have I been ? what 
Of triple influence chat dims the day [Sun 

Now from my eye withdraws, where is he vanish'd f 
O hallow'd miracles 
Of this imperial seat. 
Of these resplendent suns. 
Which, though divided, form 
A single ray of light immeasurable. 
Embellishing all heaven. 
And giving grace and lustre 



A SACRED DRAMA. 31T 

To every winged Seraph ! 

Divine mysterious light. 

Flowing from sovereign Good, 

To him alone thou art known, 

Who mounts to thee an eagle in his faith. 

What rose of snowy hue and sacred form, 

In these celestial bowers. 

Wet with empyreal dews, have I beheld 

Opening its bosom to the suns ! or rather 

One of these suns making the rose its heaven j 

And in a moment's space, 

(O marvels most sublime!) 

With deluges of light. 

And in a lily's form. 

Rise from that lovely virgin bosom blest! 

Can suns be lilies then, 

And lilies children of the maiden rose ? 

GOD THE FATHER. 

The heavens too lofty, and too low the world ; 

Suffice it that in vain 

Man's humble intellect 

Attempts to sound the depth of deeds diviue; 

Press in the fond embraces of thy heart 

The consort of thy bosom, 

And let her name be Eve. 

Adam. O my beloved companion, 
Support of my existence, 
My glory and my power, 
Plesh of my flesh, and of my bone the bone, 
Behold I clasp thy bosom 
In plenitude of pure and hallow'd love. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

I leave you now, my children ; rest in peace. 
Receive ray blessing, and so fruitful prove 
That for your offspring earth may scarce suffice! 
Man, be thou lord of all that now the sun 
Warms or the ocean laves ; impose a name 
On every thing that flies, or runs, or swims. 
Now through the ear descending to your sou) 
Receive the immutable decree ; hear, Adam, 
Let thy companion hear, and in your hearts. 
Made the abode of love. 
Cherish the mighty world ! 
Of fruits whatever from a spreading brandl 
Each copious tree may off'er to your " 
Of dainty viands whatsoe'er abound 
In this delightful garden. 
This paradise of flowers 



8L8 ADAM : 

The gay dc'ight of man, 

The treasure of the earth. 

The woader of the world, the work of God, 

These, O my son, these thou art free to tast* 

But of the tree comprising good and evil, 

Under the pain of dying 

To him who knows not death, 

Be now the fruit forbidden ! 

1 leave ye now, and through my airy road. 

Departing from the world, return to heavea 

THE SERAPHIM SING. 

Let every airy cloud on earth descend. 

And luminous and light 

Repose with God upon this glowing sphere ! 

Then let the stars descend. 

Descend the moon and sun. 

Forming bright steps to the empyreal world. 

And each rejoice that the supreme Creator 

Has deign'd to visit what his hand produced. 

Adam. O scene of splendour, viewing which I 84 
The glories of my God in lovelier light, 
How through my eyes do you console my heart! 
See, at a single nod of our great Sire 
(Dear partner of my life). 
Fire bursting forth with elemental power! 
The sea, heaven, earth, their properties assume. 
And air grows air, although there were before 
Nor fire, nor heaven, nor air, nor earth, nor sea. 
Behold the azure sky, in which ofttimes 
The lovely glittering star 

Shall wake the dawn, attired in heavenly light. 
The herald of the morn, 
To spread the boundless lustre of the day ; 
Then shall the radiant sun, 
To gladden all the world. 
Diffuse abroad his energy of light; 
And when his eye is weary of the earth. 
The pure and silvery moon 
And tne minuter stars 
Shall form the pomp of night. 
Behold where fire o'er every element. 
Lucid and light, assumes its lofty seat! 
Behold the simple field of spotless air 
Made the support of variegated birds, 
That with their tuneful notes 
Guide the delightful hours! 
See the great bosom of the fertile earth 
"With flowers embcllish'd and with fruits maturol 
See on her verdant brow she seems to bc?r 



A SACRED DRAMA. Z19 

Hills as her crown, and as her sceptre trees J 

Behold the ocean's fair cerulean plain, 

That 'midst its humid sands and vales profound. 

And 'midst its silent and its scaly tribes. 

Rolls over buried gold and precious pearl. 

And crimson coral raising to the sky 

Its wavy head, with herbs and amber crown'dl 

Stupendous all proclaim 

Their Maker's power and glory. 

Eve. All manifest thy might, 
O Architect divine! 

Adam. Dear partner, let us go 
Where to invite our step 
God's other wonders shine, a countless tribe. 



SCENE THE SECOND. 

Lucifer. Who from my dark abyss 
Calls me to gaze on this excess of light ? 
What miracles unseen 
Show'st thou to me, O God ? 
Art thou then tired of residence in heaven ? 
Why hast thou form'd on earth 
This lovely paradise ? 
And wherefore place in it 
Two earthly derni-gods of human mould ? 
Say thou vile Architect, 
Forming thy work of dust. 
What will befall this naked helpless man, 
The sole inhabitant of glens and woods ? 
Does he then dream of treading on the stars ? 
Heaven is impoverish'd, and I, alone 
The cause, enjoy the ruin I produced. 
Let him unite above 
Star upon star, moon, sun, 
And let his Godhead toil 
To re-adorn and re- illume his heaven! 
Since in the end derision 

Shall prove his works, and all his efforts, vain : 
For Lucifer alone was that lull light 
Which scattcr'd radiance o'er the plains of heaven 
But these his preseni fires are shade and smoke, 
Base counterfeits of my more potent beams. 
I reck not what he means to make his heaven, 
Nor care I what his creatui'e man may be. 
Too obstinate and firm 
Is my undaunted thought. 
In proving that I am implacable 
'Gainst heaven, 'gainst man, the angels, and their GcmI 



mo ADAM : 

SCENE THE THIRD. 
Satan, Beelzebub, a7id Lccifer. 

Satan. To light, to light raise the embattled brow^ 
A symbol of the firm and generous heart 
That ardent dwells in the unconquer'd breast! 
Must we then suffer such excessive wrong ? 
And shall we not with hands, thus talon. arm'd, 
Tear out the stars from their celestial seat; 
And, as our sign of conquest, 
Down in our dark abyss 
Shall we not force the sun and moon to blaze. 
Since we are those, who in dread feats of arms 
Warring amongst the stars. 

Made the bright face of heaven turn pale with fear ? 
To arms! to arms! redoubted Beelzebub! 
Ere yet 'tis heard around. 
To our great wrong and memorable shame. 
That by the race of man (mean child of clay) 
The stars expect a new sublimity. 

Beelzebub. I burn with such fierce flame, 
Such stormy venom deluges my soul. 
That with intestine rage C^ing, 

My groans like thunder sound, my looks are light- 
And my extorted tears are fiery showers ! 
'Tis needful therefore from my brow to shake 
The hissing serpents that o'ershade my visage, 
To gaze upon these mighty works of heaven, 
And the new demi-gods. 
Silent be he, who thinks 
(Now that this man is form'd) 
To imitate his voice and thus exclaim. 
Distressful Satan, ye unhappy spirits, 
How wretched is your lot, from being first, 
Fallen and degenerate, lost as ye are. 
Heaven was your station once, your seat the stars. 
And your great Maker God ! 
Now abject wretches, having lost for ever, 
Eternal mom and each celestial light. 
Heaven calls you now the denizens of woe. 
Instead of moving in the solar road, 
You press the plains of everlasting night; 
And for your golden tresses 
And looks angelical. 

Your locks are snaky, and your glance malign. 
Your burning lips a murky vapour breathe, 
And every tongue now teems with blasphemy } 
And all blaspheming raise 
A cloud a\;lphureous of foam and fire ; 



A SACRED DRAMA. 321 

Artn'd with the eagle's talon, feet of goat, 

And dragon's wing, your residence in fire, 

Profoundest Tartarus unblest and dai*k. 

The theatre of anguish, 

That shuts itself against the beams of day! 

Since the dread angel, born to brook no law. 

To desolate the sky. 

And raise the powers of nell, 

Ought to breathe sanguine fire, and on his bron 

Display the ensign of sublimest horror. [beak, 

Satan. Though arm'd with talons keen, and eagli; 
Snaky our tresses, and our aspect fierce, 
Cloven our feet, our frames with horror plumed. 
And though our deep abode 
Be fix'd in shadowy scenes of darkest night, 
Let us be angels still in dignity ; 
As far surpassing others as the Lord 
Of highest power, his low and humble slaves. 
If far from heaven our pennons we expand, 
Let us remember still 

That we alone are lords, and they are slaves. 
And that resigning meaner seats in heaven. 
We in their stead have raised a royal throne 
Immense and massy, where the mighty chief 
Of all our legions higher lifts his brow 
Than the proud mountain that upholds your h«aven; 
And there with heaven still waging endless war, 
Threatening the stars, our adversaries ever. 
Bears a dread sceptre kindling into flame, 
That, while he wheels it round, darts forth a biaze 
More dazzling than the sun's meridian ray. 

Lucifer. 'Tis time to show my power, my bravB 
compeers. 
Magnanimous and mighty ; 
Angels endow'd with martial potency, 
I know the grief that gives you living death. 
Is to see man exalted 
To stations so sublime. 
That all created things to him submit; 
Since ye already doubt. 
That to those lofty seats of flaming glory 
(Our treasure once and pride, but now renounced) 
This pair shall one day rise. 
With all the numerous train 
Of their posterity. 

Satan. Great Lord of the infernal deep abysa, 
To thee I bow, and speak 
The anguish of my soul. 
That for this man grows hourly more serere. 
Fearing the Incamation of the Word. 
P2 

739 



122 ADAMi 

Lucifer. Can ii be true, that from so litte diut 
A deity shall rise I 

That flesh, that deity, that lofty power. 
That chains us to the deep ? 
To this vile clod of earth. 
He who himself yet claims to be adored ? 
Shall angels then do homage thus to men? 
And can then flesh impure 
Give to angelic nature higher powers ? 
Can it be true, and to devise the mode 
Escape our intellect, ours who so dear 
Have bought the boast of wisdom ? 
1 yet am He, I am, 

Who would not suffer, that above in heaven. 
Your lofty nature should submit to outrage. 
When that insensate wish 
Possess'd the tyrant of the starry throne. 
That you should prostrate fall, 
Before the Incarnate Word : 
I am that Spirit, 1, who for your sake 
Collecting dauntless courage, to the north 
Led you far distant from the senseless will 
Of him who boasts to have created heaven. *': 

And ye are those, your ardour speaks you well, ., 
And your bold hearts, that o'er the host of heaveil 
Gave me assurance of proud victory. 
Arise! let glory's flame 
Blaze in your breast ; nor be it ever heard. 
That him whom ye disdain 
To worship in the sky. 
Ye stoop to worship in the depth of hell I 
Such were your oaths to me, 
By your inestimable worth in arms. 
Your worth, alas, so great 
That heaven itself deserved not to enjoy it. 
Oh, 'twere an outrage and a shame too great 
Were we not ready to revenge it all ! 
I see already, flaming in your looks. 
The matchless valour of your ardent hearts ; 
Already see your pinions spread in air, 
To overwhelm the world and highest heaven. 
That, all creation sunk in the abyss, 
This mortal may be found 
Instantly crush'd, and buried in his birth. 

Satan. At length pronounce thy orders! 
Say what thou wilt, and with a hundred tongues 
Speak, speak! that instant in a hundred works 
Satan may toil, and hell strain all her powers, [way 

Lucifer. Behold, to smooth the rough and arduous 
By which they deem'd they may ascend to glory, 

740 



A SACRED DRAMA. 823 

Behol-d a God assumes 

A human form in vain! 

A mode too prompt and easy, 

To crush the race of mortals, 

The ancient God affords to new-born man. 

Nature herself too much inclines, or rather 

Forces this creature, to support his life, 

Frequent to feed on various viands • hence, 

Since on delicious dainties 

His bitter fall depends. 

He may be tempted now to fruit forbidden, 

And by the paths of death. 

As he was nothing once, return to nothing. 

Beelzebub. Great Angel ! greatly thought! 

Lucifer. Rather the noble spirit' 
Of higher towering thought prompts me to speak, 
That God perchance indignant that his hands 
Have stoop'd to stain themselves in abject clay, 
Seeing how different angel is from man. 
Repenting of his work. 
Forbad him to support his frail existence 
Upon this sweet allurement ; hence to sin 
Prompted by natural motives, though tyrannic, 
He should himself the earth's destroyer prove, 
Converting his vile clay to dust again ; 
And plucking up agaiii 

The rooted world, thus to the highest heaven 
Open a faithful passage, 
Repenting of his wrong to us of old 
Its ornaments sublime ! 

Satan. Pardon, O pardon, if my humble thought. 
Aspiring by my tongue 

Too high, perhaps offend your sovereign ear ! 
Long as this man shall rest 
Alive, and breathe on earth. 
Exhausted we must bear 
Fierce war, in endless terror of the Word. 

Lucifer. Man yet shall rest alive, he yet shall 
breathe. 
And sinning even to death, 
This new-made race of mortals 
Shall cover all the earth, 
And reign o'er all its creatures ; 
His soul shall prove eternal. 
The image of his God. 
Y^X shall the Incarnate Word, I trust, be foil'd. 

Beelzebub. Oh! precious tidings to angelic ears. 
That heal the wounds of all our shatter'd host 

Lucifer. Let man exist to sin, since he by sinning 
Shall make the weight of sin his heritage, 

741 



824 ADAM : 

Which shall be in his race 

Proclaim'd original ; 

So that mankincT existing but to sin. 

And sinning still to death. 

And still to error bom, 

In eril hour the Word 

Will wear the sinner's form, if rightly deem'd 

The enemy of sin. 

Now rise, ye Spirits, from the dark abyss, 

You who would rest assured 

That man the sinner is now doom'd to death. 



SCENE THE FOURTH. 

MeLECANO, LtJRCONE, LUCIFER, SaTAN, BliELZEBUil. 

Melecano. Command us, mighty Lord ; what art 
thy wishes ? 
Wouldst thou extinguish the new-risen sun ? 
Behold what stores I bring 
Of darkness and of fire ! 
Alas! with fury Melecano burns. 

Lurcone. Behold Lurcone, thou supreme of hell, 
Who 'gainst the highest heaven 
Pants to direct his rage, whence light of limb, 
Though loaded deep with wrath. 
He stands with threatening aspect in thy presence. 

Lucifer. Thou, Melecan, eissume the name of 
Pride ; 
Lurcone, thou of Envy, both united 
(Since power combined with power 
Acquires new force) to man direct your way : 
Nor him alone essay ; it is my will 
That woman also mourn ; 
Contrive that she may murmur at her God, 
Because in birth not prior to the man ; 
Since every future man is now orrlain'd 
To draw his life from woman, with such thoughts 
Let her wax envious, that she cannot soar 
Above the man, as high as now below him. 
Hence, Lurcon, be it thine to make her proud; 
Let her give law to her Creator God, 
Wishing o'er man priority of birth. [n^iSi 

Melecano. Behold, where Melecan, a dog in fierce. 
The savage dog of hell. 
Darts growling to his prey I 
He flies, and he returns 
All cover'd and all dreach'd with human ^re. 

742 



A SACRED DRAMA. 3« 

LuRCONE. I rapid too depart, 
And, on a swifter wing 
Than through the cloudless air 
Darts the keen eagle to his earthly prey. 
Behold, I too return ; 
My beak with carnage fill'd, and talons full. 

Lucifer. Haste, Arfarat and Ruspican, rise all, 
Rise from the centre to survey the earth ! 



SCENE THE FIFTH. 
Ruspican, Arfarat, Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub. 

Ruspican. Soon as I heard the name of Ruspican, 
With rapid pinions spread, I sought the skies. 
To bend before the great Tartarean chief. 
And aggravate the woes 
Of this new mortal, blest with air and light. 

Arfarat. Scarce had thy mighty voice 
Re-echoed through the deep, 
When the Tartarean fires 
Flying 1 left for this serener sky. 
Forth from my lips, and heart. 
Breathing fierce rancour 'gainst the life of man. 

Lucifer. Fly, Ruspican, with all your force and 
fury! 
Since now I call thee by the name of Anger ; 
Find Eve, and tell her that the fair endowment 
Of her free will, deserves not she should live 
In vassalage to man ; 
That she alone in value far exceeds 
All that the sun in his bright circle warms ; 
That she from flesh, man from the meaner dust, 
Arose to life — in the fair garden she 
Created pure, he in the baser field. 

Ruspican. I joy to change the name of Ruspican 
For Anger, dark and deadly : 
Hence now, by my tremendous aid, destructive 
And deadly be this day ! 
Behold I go with all my force and fury ; 
Behold I now transfuse 
My anger all into the breast of wom.'ui! 

Lucifer. Of Avarice I give, 
O Arfarat, to thee the name and works ; 
Go, see, contend, and conquer I 
Contrive that wandering Eve, 
With down-cast eyes, may in the fruitful gardCB 
Search with solicitude for hidden treasure : 
Then stimulate her heart 

743 



326 ADAM : 

To wish no other Lord, 

Except herself, of Eden and the world. 

Arfarat. See me already plumed 
With wings of gems and gold ; 
See with an eye of sapphire 
I gaze upon the fair ; 
Behold, to her I speak. 
With lips that emulate the ruby's lustre. 
Receive now as thy own 

(Thus I accost herj all the world's vast wealth. 
If she reject my gift. 

Then will I tempt her with a shower of pearls, 
A fashion yet unknown ; 
Thus will she melt, and thus I hope at last 
In chains of gold to drag her to destruction. 

Lucifer. Rise Guliar, Dulciato, and Maltia! 
To make the band of enemies complete, 
That, like a deadly hydra. 
Shall dart against this man 
Your seven crests portentous and terrific. 



SCENE THE SIXTH. 

Maltia, Dulciato, Guliar, Lucifer, Satan, 
Beelzebub. 

Behold! we come with emulation fierce 

To your severe command : 

In prompt obedience let us rise to heaven; 

Let us with wrath assail 

This human enemy of abject clay. 

Lucifer. Maltia, thou shall take the name of Sloth: 
Sudden invest thyself with drowsy charms 
And mischievous repose ; 
Now wait on Eve, in slothfulness absorb'd. 
Let all this pomp of flowers. 
And all these tuneful birds. 
Be held by her in scorn ; 
And from her consort flying. 
Now let lier feel no wisiics hut for death. 

Maltia. What shall I say ? shall I, to others mute, 
Announce to thee my sanguinary works; 
Savage and silent, I 
Would be loquacious in my deeds alone. 

Lucifer. Thee, Dulciato, we name Luxury ; 
Haste thou to Eve, and fill her with desires 
To decorate her fragile form with flowers, 
To bind her tresses with a golden fillet, 

r44 



A SACRED L»RAMA: 327 

With various vain devices to allure 
A new-found paramour; 
And to tier heart suggest, 

That to exchange her love maj- prove deliglitful. 
DuLciATo. Can Lord so mighty, from his humble 
slave 
Demand no higher task ? 
The way to purchase honour 
Now will I teach all hell. 
By the completion of my glorious triumph. 
Already Eve beside a crystal fount 
Exults to vanquish the vermilion rose 
With cheeks of sweeter bloom. 
And to exceed the lily 
By her yet whiter bosom ; 
Now beauteous threads of gold 
She thinks her tresses floating in the air; 
Now amorous and charming, 
Her radiant eyes she reckons suns of love, 
Fit to inflame the very coldest heart. 

LuciFiiK. Guliar,be thou call'd Gluttony; now go 
Reveal to Eve that the forbidden fruit 
Is manna all within, 
And that such food in heaven 
Forms the repast of angels and of God. 

GoLiAR. Of all the powerful foes 
Leagued against man, Guliar is only he 
Who can induce him to oppose his Maker • 
Hence rapidly I fly ' 

To work the woe of mortals. 

Satan. To arms, to arms! to ruin and to blood I 
Yes, now to blood, infernal leeches all ! 
Again, again proclaiming war to heaven ; 
And let us put to flight 
Every audacious foe 
That ventures to disturb our ancient peace. 

Beelzeuub. Now, now, great chief, with feet 
That testify thy triumph, 
I see thee crush the sun. 
The moon, and all the stars ; 
For where thy radiance shines, 
O Lucifer! all other beams are blind. 
Lucifer. Away. Heaven shudders at the mighty 
ruin 
That threatens it from our infernal host ; 
Already 1 behold the moon opaque, 
And light-supplying sun. 
The wandering &urs, and fix'd, 
With terror pale, and sinking in eclipse. 

^B 745 



»8 ADAM : 

ACT II. 

SCENE THE FIRST. 
Chorus of Angels singing. 

Now let us garlands weave 

Of all the fairest flowers. 

Now at this early dawn. 

For new-made man, and his companion dear; 

Let all with festive joy, 

And with melodious song, 

Of the great Architect 

Applaud this noblest work, 

And speak the joyous sound, 

Man is the wonder both of earth and heaven. 

FIRST ANGEL. 

Your warbling now suspend. 

You pure angelic progeny of God, 

Behold the labour emulous of heaven! 

Behold the woody scene 

Deck'd with a thousand flowers of grace divine } 

Here man resides, here ought he to enjoy 

In his fair mate eternity of bliss. 

SECOND ANGEL. 

How exquisitely sweet 
This rich display of flowers, 
This airy wild of fragrance, 
So lovely to the eye. 
And to the sense so sweet. 

THIRD ANGEL. 
O the sublime Creator, 

How marvellous his works, and more his power! 
Such is the sacred flame 
Of his celestial love, 
Not able to confine it in himself, 
He breathed, as fruitful sparks 
Fvotn his creative breast. 
The angels, heaven, man, woman, and the world 

FOURTH ANGEL. 

Yes, mighty Lord! yes, hallow'd Love divine I 

Who, ever in thyself completely blest. 

Unconscious of a want. 

Who from thyself alone, and at thy will, 

Blight with benignant flames, 

Withou'i, the aid of matter or of form. 



■16 



A SACRED DRAMA. 329 

By efficacious power 
Hast of mere nothins: fonn'd 
The whole angelic host; 
With potency endow'd, 
And that momentous gift, 
Either by sin to fall. 
Or by volition stand. 

FIFTH ANGEL. 

Hence, our Almighty Maker, 

To render us more worthy of his heaven, 

And to confirm us in eternal grace, 

Presented to our homage 

The pure Incarnate Word ; 

That as a recompense for hallow'd toil 

So worthily achieved. 

We might adore him humble ; 

For there's a written law 

In the records of heaven, 

That not a work of God that breathes ajid liTes, 

And is endow'd with reason, 

Shall hold a seat in heaven, 

If it incline not first, with holy zeal. 

In tender adoration to the Word. 

SIXTH ANGEL. 

Justly each spirit in the realms above. 

And all of mortal race. 

And every foe to heaven, 

Should bow the knee in reverence of the Word j 

Since this is he whom from eternity 

God in the awful depth 

Of his sublime and fruitful mind produced; 

He is not accident, but substance true, 

As rare as perfect, and as truly great 

As his high Author holy and divine. 

SEVENTH ANGEL. 

This living Word, image express of God, 

Is a resemblance of his mighty substance ; 

Whence he is call'd the Son, the Son of God, 

Even as the Father, God; 

The generated Word 

By generation yields not unto time. 

Since from eternity the eternal Father 

Produced this Son, whence he rejoices there. 

Great offspring of great Father there for ever 

For ever he is bom ; 

There he is fed, and foster'd 

With plenitude of grace 

Imparted by his Sire ; 

74T 



330 ADAM: 

There was the Father ever, and the Son 
Was ever at his side, or in the Father ; 
Nor younger is the Son 
Than his Ahnighty Sire, 
Nor elder is the Father 
Than his eternal Son. 

EIGHTH ANGEL. 

O Son, O Sire, O God, O Man, O Word, 

Let all, with bended knee, 

With humble adoration reverence you! 

NINTH ANGEL. 

O Lucifer, now doom'd to endless pain, 

Hadst thou been join'd with us 

In worship of the Word, 

How hadst thou now been blessed in thy Godl 

But thou in pride alone, yes, thou alone 

In thy great wisdom foolish, 

Hast scom'd the Paragon, 

And would'st not reverence the Incarnate God; 

Whence by thy folly thou hast fallen as far 

As thy proud soul expected to ascend. 

TENTH ANGEL. 

Monster of fierceness, dwell 
In thy obscure recess ; 
And for thy weighty crime 
Incessant feel and infinite thy pain, 
For infinite has been thy vast off'ence. 

ELEVENTH ANGEL. 

Reside for ever in the deep abyss ; 

For well the world's eternal Master knows 

Again to fill those high celestial seats. 

That by your ruin you have vacant left; 

Behold man fashion'd from the earth, who lives. 

Like plants that vegetate ; 

See in a moment's space 

How the pure breath of life. 

Breathed on his visage by the power divine. 

Endows the wondrous creature with a soul, 

A pure immortal sou). 

That graced, and lovely with exalted powers, 

Shines the great faithful image of its God. 

Behold, it has the gift to merit highly, 

The option to deserve or heaven or hell, 

In free-will perfect, as the first of angels. 

TVi^ELFTH ANGEL. 

Yes, man alone was form'd in just derision 
Of all the infernal host. 



A SACRED DRAMA. 331 

As lord of this frail world and all that lives. 

The ornament of all, 

The miracle of nature, 

The perfect heir of heaven, 

Related to the angels, 

Adopted son of God, 

And semblance of the Holy Trinity j 

What could'st thou hope for more, what moro attain, 

Creature miraculous. 

In whom ttie eternal Lord 

Has now vouchsafed to signalize his power ? 

THIRTEENTH ANGEL. 

How singular and worthy is bis form, 

Upright in stature, meek in dignity ; 

Well fashion'd are his limbs, and his complexion 

Well temper'd, with a high majestic brow, 

A brow turn'd upward to his native sky ; 

In language eloquent, in thought sublime. 

For contemplation of his Maker form'd. 

FODRTEKNTH ANGBL. 

Placed in a state of innocence is man j 
Primeval justice is his blessed gift ; 
Hence are his senses to his reason subject, 
His body to his mind. 
Enjoying reason as his prime endowment, 

FIFTEENTH ANGEL. 

Supernal love held him too highly dear, 

To let him dwell alone : 

And thence of lovely woman 

(Fair faithful aid) bestow'd on man the gift 

Adam, 'tis thine alone 

To keep thy duty to thy Lord unstain'd ; 

In his command of the forbidden fruit, 

Thy gift of freedom keep inviolate ; 

Since he who fashion'd thee, without thy aid, 

Think not without thy aid he means to save theeJ 

But since, descending from the heights of heaven. 

We come as kind attendants upon man, 

Now let us haste to Eden's flowery banks. 

ALL THE ANGELS SING. 

Now take we happy flight 

To Paradise, adom'd with fairest flowers ; 

There let us almost worship 

The mighty lord of this transcendent world. 

And joyous let us sing 

This flowery heaven, and Adam as its god. 



332 ADAM : 

SCENE THE SECOND. 

Adam. O mighty Lord of mighty things sublimo 
O my supreme Cretftor ! 

bounteous in thy love 

To me thy humble servant ! such rare blessings 
With liberal hand thou givest ; 
Where'er I turn my eyes, 

1 see myself revered 

Approach ye animals that range the field! 

And ye now close your variegated wings. 

Ye pleasing birds! in me you look on Adam, 

On him ordain'd to name 

All things that gracious God has made for man j 

And praise, with justice praise 

Him who created me, who made you all, 

And in his bounteous love with me rejoice. 

But what do I behold ? blest that 1 am. 

My dear, my sweet companion ! 

Who comes to hail me with a gift of flowers. 

And with these sylvan honours crown my brow. 

Go, stately lion, go! and thou with scales 

Impenetrable arm'd 

Rhinoceros, whose pride can strike to earth 

The unconquer'd elephant ! 

Thou fiery courser bound along the fields. 

And with thy neighing shake the echoing vale ; 

Thou camel, and all here, or beast or bird. 

Retire, in homage to approaching Eve ! 

Eve. O what delight more dear. 
Than that which Adam in my sight enjoys. 
Draws him far off" from me ? Ye tender flowers, 
Where may I find on you 
The traces of his step ? 

LuRcoNE. See man and woman ! hide thyself and 
watch ! 

Adam. No more fatigue my eyes, 
Nor with thy animated glances dart, 
Such radiant lightning round ; 
Turn tht clear heaven of thy serener face. 
To him who loves its light; 
See thy beloved Adam, 
Behold him, my sweet love : 

thou, who art alone 

Joy of the world, and dear delight of man I 
LoRCONE. Dread the approach of evUl 
GuLiAR. Dread the deceit of hell! 
EvB. By sovereign content 

1 feel my tongue enchain'd ; 
But though ray voice be mute. 



A SACRED DRAMA. 333 

My countenance may seem more eloquent, 
Expressing, though in silence, all my joy. 

Adam. O my companion clear ! 

LuRCONE. And soon perchance thy foe ! 

Adam. O thou my sweetest life! 

GuLiAR. Perchance thy bitter death I 

Eve. Take, gentle Adam, from my hand these 
flowers ; 
With these, my gift, let me entwine thy locks. 

Adam. Ye lilies and ye shrubs of snowy hue, 
Jasmine as ivory pure. 
Ye spotless graces of the shining field ; 
And thou most lovely rose 
Of tint most delicate. 
Fair consort of the morn. 
Delighted to imbibe 
The genial dew of heaven, 
Rich vegetation's vermil-tinctured gem, 
April's enchanting herald. 
Thou flower supremely blest. 
And queen of all the flowers. 
Thou form'st around my locks 
A garland of such fragrance. 
That up to heaven itself 
Thy balmy sweets ascend. 
Let us in pure embraces 
So twine ourselves, my love. 
That we may seem united. 
One well-compact and intricate acanthus. 

LuRcoNE. Soon shall the fetters of infernal loil 
So spread around ye both 
The indissoluble bond, 
No mortal efibrt shall have power to break ! 

Eve. Now, that with flowers so lovely 
We have adorn'd our tresses. 
Here let us both with humble reverence kneel, 
And praise our mighty Maker. 
From this my thirsting heart 
No longer can refrain. 

Adam. At thy engaging words, 
And thy pure heart's desire. 
On these pure herbs and flowers 
I bend my willing knee in hallow'd bliss. 

LuRCONE. Away! farofi'musti 
From act so meekly just 
Furiouii depart, and leave the light of day. 

GuLiAR. I must partake thy flight, 
And follow thee, alas ! surcharged with grie£ 

Adam. Now that these herbs and flowers to WIT 
Sttch easy rest afford, p)ent kneoi 

751 



334 ADAM : 

Let us vtith zealous ardour raise our eyes, 
Contemplating with praise our mighty Maker i 
First then, devout and favour'd Eve, do thou 
With sacred notes invite 
To deeds so fair thy Adam. 

Eve. My Lord Omnipotent, 
In his celestial essence 
Is first, supreme, unlimited, alone, 
Eternal, uncompounded. 
He no beginning had, no end will have. 

Adam. My sovereign Lord, so great, 
Is irresistible, terrific, just. 
Gracious, benign, indulgent, 
Divine, unspotted, holy, loving, good. 
In justice most revered. 
Ancient of days, in his sublimest court. 

Eve. He rests in highest heaven. 
Yet more exalted in his boundless self ; 
Thence his all-searching eye looks down on all ; 
Nought is from him conceal'd 
Since all exists in him : 

Without him nothing could retain existence. 
Nor is there aught that he 
For his perfection needs, 
Except himself alone. 

Adam, He every place pervades, 
But is confined in none ; 
In him the limits of all grandeur lie. 
But he exists unlimited by space. 

EvE. Above the universe himself he raised. 
Yet he behind it rests ; 
The whole he now encircles, now pervades. 
Now dwells apart from all. 
So great, the universe 
To comprehend him fails. 

Adam. If he to all inclines. 
In his just balance all he justly weighs; 
From him if all things flow. 
All things in him acknowledge their support, 
But he on nothing rests. 

Eve. To time my great director is not subject, 
For time in him sees no vicissitude : 
In awful and sublime eternity 
One being stands for ever ; 
For ever stands one instant. 
And hence this power assumes the name of Ot>d 

Adam. It is indeed a truth. 
That my eternal mighty Lord is God ; 
This deity incomprehensible 
That, ere the heaven was made, 

752 



A SACRED DRAMA. 835 

IJwelt only in himself, and heaven in him. 

Eve, let us joyous rise ; in other scenes, 

With admiration of celestial splendour 

And of this lovely world. 

With notes of hallow'd bliss 

Let us again make the glad air resound. 

Eve. Lead on, my faithful guide ; 
Quick is my willing foot to follow thee. 
Since my fond soul believes 
That I in praising heaven to heaven ascend | 
So my pure bosom feels 
Full of divine content. 

Adam. To speak on every theme 
Our mighty Maker made thee eloquent, 
So that in praising heaven thou seemest there. 
My fair associate ! treasure of my life ! 
Upon the wings of this exalted praise 
Devotion soars so high, that if her feet 
Rest on the earth, her spirit reaches heaven. 



SCENE THE THIRD. 

The Serpent, Satan, Spipits. 

Serpent. To arms, to battle, O ye sons of powerf 
Ye warring spirits of the infernal field! 
A new and wondrous war 
Awaits you now, within the lists of earth; 
Most strange indeed the mode 
Of warring there, if triumph, war's great end, 
Proves its beginning now. 
Behold the sun himself turn pale with terror, 
Behold the day obscured ! 
Behold each rapid bird directs his flight 
Where thickest foliage spreads. 
But shelter seeks in vain ; 
The leaves of every bough. 
As with a palsy struck. 

Affright him more, and urge his wings to flight 
1 would not as a warrior take the field 
Against the demi-goddess girt with angels, 
Since she has now been used 
To gaze on spirits tender and benign. 
Not such as I, of semblance rough and fierce, 
For battles born to subjugate the sky. 
In human form I would not 
Defy her to a great important conflict. 
The world she knows contams one only man. 

7&3 



836 ADAM : 

Nor would I of the tiger 

Or the imperious lion 

Or other animal assume the shape ; 

For well she knows they could not reason with her. 

Who are of reason void. 

To make her knowledge vain. 

That I exist to the eternal Maker 

A source of endless fear. 

Wrapt in the painted serpent's scaly folds, 

Part of myself I hide, giving the rest 

A human semblance and a damsel's face. 

Great things I tell thee, and behold I see 

My adversary prompt to parley with me. 

Of novelty to hear 

How eager woman is ! 

Now, now I lose my tongue. 

And shall entangle her in many a snare. 

Satan. But what discordant sound 
Rises from hell, where all was lately concord f 
Why do hoarse trumpets bellow through the deep ? 



SCENE THE FOURTH. 

VoLAN, the Serpent, Spirits, Satan. 

VoLAN. Great lord, ordain'd to found infernal 
realms. 
And look with scorn upon the pomp of heaven. 
Behold thy Volan fly 
To pay his homage at thy scaly feet I 
The chieftains of Avemus, 
The prime infernal powers 
To rise in rivalship 
Of heaven in all, as in that lofty seat, 
(The Word to us reveal'd. 
The source of such great strife) 
They wish, that on the earth 
A goddess should prepare a throne for man. 
And lead him to contemn 
His own Almighty Maker : 
Yet more the inhabitants of fire now wish 
That having conquer'd man. 
And with such triumph gay. 
To the great realms of deep and endless flames 
Ye both with exultation may descend : 
Then shall I see around 
Hell dart its rays, and hold the sun in sconk 
But if this man resist, 

754 



A SACRED DRAMA. 

Then losing every hope 

Of farther victory, 

They wish that on the throne 

Of triumph he may as a victor sit, 

Who teaches it to move. 

And thou perform the office 

With an afflicted partner. 

With him, who labours to conduct the car ; 

That cloth'd in horrid pomp 

The region of Avernus 

May speak itself the seat of endless pain. 

And, at the sound of inauspicious trumpets, 

The heavens may shake, the universe re-echo. 



SCENE THE FIFTH 

Vain Glory drawn by a Giant, Volan, the Serpent, 
Satan and Spirits. 

Vain Glory. King of Avernus, at this harp's glad 
sound 
I weave a starry garland for thy locks. 
For well I see thy lovely scales portend 
Honour to me, ruin and shame to man. 
I am Vain Glory, and I sit on high. 
Exulting Victress of the mighty Giant : 
He has his front in iieaven, on earth his feet, 
A faithful image of man's mighty worth : 
But shake not thou with fear! strong as he is, 
So brittle is the crown of glass he wears 
That at my breath, which drives him fiercely on, 
Man loses power, and falls a prey to death. 

Serpent. Angel, or Goddess, from thy lofty triumph 
Descend with me at the desire of hell I 
Haste to a human conflict j 
You all so light and quick. 
That by your movement not a leaf is shaken 
In all these woods around. 
Your mighty triumphs now together hide ; 
Now that in silence we may pass unseen, 
Quick let us enter neighbouring paradise. 

Vain Glory. Wherefore delay ? Point out the 
Since prompt to follow thee. [|path we gO{ 

Full as I am of haughtiness and pride, 
With expeditious foot 
I will advance 

Among these herbs and flowers; 
And let infernal laurels 
C;ircle thy towering crest and circle mine! 

Q 

7.56 



38b ADAM . 

Seri'Ent What tribes of beau'.p.ous fltwpre, 
And plants now new and vivid I 
How desolate shall I 

Soon make these verdant scenes of plant and flower; 
Behold ! how with my foot 
I now as much depress them, 
As they shoot forth with pride to rear their heads. 
Behold ! their humid life 
I wither with my step of blasting fire. 
How I enjoy, as I advance through these 
Fair bowers of rapid growth, 
To poison with my breath the leaf and flower. 
Embittering all these sweet and blooming fruits. 
We are arrived ; behold the lovely tree 
Prohibited by heaven ; 
There mount, and be embower'd 
In the thick foliage of a wood so fair ! 

Vain Glory. See, I prepare to climb : 
I am already high, 
And in the leaves conceal'd. 
Climb thou, great chief, and rapidly encircle. 
And with thy scaly serpent train ascend 
The tree ; be quick, since now arising higher 
I can discern where lonely Eve advances. 

Serpent. Behold, enraged 1 twine around the trunU 
With these my painted and empoison'd folds ; 
Behold, 1 breathe towards this woman, love, 
Though hate is in my heart : 
Behold me now ; more beautiful than ever. 
Though now of each pestiferous cruel monster, 
In poison and in rage, 1 am the model j 
Now I behold her, now 
In silence I conceal my gift of speech, 
Among these leaves embower'd. 



SCENE THE SIXTH. 

BvB, Serpent, and Vain Glory. 

Eve. I ought, the servant of a mighty Lord, 
A servant low and humble, 
With reverential knee bending to earth, 
I ought to praise the boundless love of him, 
Since he has made me queen 
Of all the sun delights to view on earth. 
But if to heaven I raise my eyes and heart. 
Clearly can Eve not see 
She was created for these great, eternal. 
Celestial miracles } 

ffid 



A SACRED DRAMA. 3g9 

So that in spirit or in mortal frame, 

She ever must enjoy or earth or-he.aven. 

Hence this fair flowering tree 

Wreathing abroad its widely branching arms, 

As if desirous to contend with heaven, 

Seems willing in my locks 

To spread a shining heaven of verdant leaves •. 

And if I pass among the herbs and flowers, 

Those, I behold, that by my step are press'u 

Arise more beautiful; the very buds 

Expand, to form festoons 

To decorate the grassy scene around. 

Other new flowers with freshest beauty fair. 

That stand from me sequester'd, 

Form'd into groups or scatter'd in the vale. 

Seem with delight to view me, and to say. 

The neighbouring flowers rejoice 

To give thy foot support. 

But we, aspiring eagles, 

From far behold thy visage, 

Mild portraiture of the almighty form j 

While other plants and flowers, 

Wishing that 1 may form ray seat among them, 

Above their native growth 

So seem to raise themselves, that of sweet flowen 

A I'ragrant hedge they form ; 

And others in a thousand tender ties, 

Form on the ground so intricate a snare, 

That the incautious hand which aims to free 

The captive foot, must be itself ensnared. 

If food I wish, or draught, 

Lo ! various fruit, lo! honey, milk, and manna : 

Behold from many a fount and many a rill. 

The crystal beauty of the cooling stream ! 

If melody, behold the tuneful birds. 

Behold angelic bands I 

If welcome day. 

Or mild and wish'd-for night. 

Behold the sun, behold the moon and stars: 

If 1 a friend require, 

Adam, sweet friend, replies ; 

And if my God in heaven, the Eternal Maker 

Dwells not unmindful, but regards my speech 

If creatures subject to my will I wish, 

Lol at my side all subject to my will. 

What more can I desire, what more obtain ? 

Now nothing more, my Sovereign ; 

Eve is with honour loaded. 

But what's before me ? do 1 wake or dream ? 

Among these boughs I see 



76? 



S40 ADAM : 

A human visage fair ; what ! are there then 
More than myself and Adam, 
Who view the glorious sun ? 

marvellous, though I am distant far, 

1 yet discern the truth j with arms, with hands, 
A human breast it has, 

The rest is serpent all ; 

O, how the sun, emblazing with his rays 

These gorgeous scales, with glowing colours bright, 

O'erwhelms my dazzled eyes! 

I would approach it. 

Serpent. Now, then, at length you see 
I have precisely ta'en the semblance fit. 
To overcome this woman. 

Eve. The nearer I approach, more and more lovely 
His semblance seems of emerald and sapphire, 
Now ruby and now amethyst, and now 
Of jasper, pearl, and fl.iming chrysolite. 
Each fold it waving forms around the trunk 
Of this fair flowering tree! 

Sekpent. 1 will assail my foe. 
Come to survey me better. 
Thou dazzler of the eye. 
Enchantress of the soul, 
Soft idol of the heart. 

Fair nymph, approach ! Lo, 1 display myself, 
Survey me all; now satisfy tinne eyes! 
View me attentive, paragon of beauty. 
Thou noblest ornament of all the world, 
Thnu lovely pomp of nature. 
Thou little paradise. 
To whom all tilings do homage! 
Where lonely from lliy friend, thy Adam, far 
Whore art thou? now advancing where 
The numerous bands of Angels 
Become such fond admirers of tliy beauty ? 
Happy 1 deem myself, supremely happy. 
Since 'tis my blessed lot. 
With two fond eyes alone to gaze on that. 
Which, with unnumber'd eyes, heaven scarce surveys 
Trust me, if all the loveliness of heaven 
Would wrap itself within a human veil. 
Nought but thy beauteous bosom 
Could form a mansion worthy such a guest. 
How well 1 see, full well, 
That she above with thy light agile feet 
Imprints her step in heaven, and there she smilet 
With thy enchanting lip. 
To scatter joy around those blessed spheres; 
Yes, with thy lips above, 



A SACRED DRAMA: S41 

Fhe breathes, shf speaks, she pauses, 

And with thine eyes communicates a lustre 

To all that's fair in heaven or fair on earth. 
Eve. And who art thou, i;o eager 

To lavish praise on me ? 

Yet never did mine eyes see form like thine. 
Serpent. Can I be silent now ? 

Too much, too much, 1 pant 

To please the lovely model of all grace. 

Know, when the world was fashion'd out of nought 

And this most fruitful garden, 

I was ordain'd to dwell a gardener here, 

By him who cultivates 

The fair celestial fields ; 

Here joyful I ascend. 

To watch that no voracious bird may seize 

On such delicious fruit ; 

Here it is my delight, 

Though all be marvellously fair around, 

Lily to blend with lily, rose with rose, 

And now the fragrant hedge 

To form, and now between the groups of flowers, 

And o'er the tender herb 

To guide the current of the crystal stream. 

Oh what sweet scenes to captivate the eye 

Of such a lovely virgin. 

Will I disclose around ! 

Thou, if thou canst, return 

To this alluring spot. 

And ever with fresh myrtle and new flowers 

More beauteous thou shalt find it; 

This wondrous faculty I boast infused 

By thy supernal Maker, 

To guard in plant and flower their life and fragrance 

Eve. Since I have found thee courteous 
No less than wise, reveal to me thy name j 
Speak it to me, unless 
I seek to know too much. 

Serpent. Wisdom, 1 name myself. 
Sometimes I Life am call'd. 
For this my double nature, since I am 
One part a serpent and the other human. [why 

Eve. Strange things this day I hear; but tell me 
Thou serpent art combined with human form ? 

Serpent, i will inform thee; when the sovereign 
On nothing resting, yet gave force to all, [God 

To balance all things in an even scale 
The sage of heaven desired. 
And not from opposite extremities 
To pass, without a medium 'ustly fouiaded: 



342 ADAM : 

Hence 'tween the brulo and man 

It pleased him to create this serpent kind ; 

And even this participates in reason, 

And with a human face lias human speech. 

But what can fail to honour with submission 

The demigod of earth ? 

Oh ! if proportion'd to thy charms, or equal 

To the desert of man, 

You had high knowledge, doubt not but in ali 

Ye would be reckoned as immortal gods ; 

Since the prime power of lofty science is 

One of the first and greatest 

Of attributes divine ; Oh, could this be, 

Descending from the base 

Of this engaging plant. 

How as a goddess should I here adore thee I 

Eve. What, dost thou think so little then the sum 
Of knowledge given to man ? does he not know 
Of rtvery living herb and flower and plant. 
Of minerals and of unnumber'd gems, 
Of fish, of fowl, and every animal, 
In water or on earth, of fire, of air, 
Of this fair starry heaven. 
And of the moon and sun. 
The virtues most conceal'd ? 

Serpent. Ah, this is nothing ; since it only servee 
To make the common things of nature known ; 
And I, although I am 
Greatly inferior in my rank to man. 
Yet, one by one, even I can number these. 
More worthy it would be 
To know both good and ill ; 
This, this is the supreme 
Intelligence, and mysteries most high. 
That on the earth would make you like to God. 

Eve. That which hath power sufficient to impart 
This knowledge so sublime of good and ill 
(But mixt with mortal anguish). 
Is this forbidden tree, on which thou sittest 

Serpent. And tell me why a law 
So bitter rises from a fruit so sweet ? 
Where, then, where is the sense 
That you so lately boasted as sublime ? 
Observe, if it be just, 

That man so brave, so lovely, man that riiles 
The world with skilful hand, man that so much 
Pleased his creating God, when power almighty 
Fashion'd the wonders both of earth and heaveo. 
That man at last a little fruit should crush. 
And all be form'd for nothing, or at best 

TOO 



A SACRLin DRAMA. M& 

But for a moment's space f 

No, no, far from thee, far bo such a doubt I 

Let colour to thy cheek, and to thy lip 

The banish'd rose return ! 

Say, — but I know — thy heart 

Within thee spe;iks the language that I speak ! 

Eve. The Lord commanded me I should not tniirt*i 
This fruit ; and to obey him is my joy. 

Serpent. If 'tis forbidden thee 
To taste a fruit so fair. 

Heaven does not choose that man should be a god. 
But thou, with courtesy, to my kind voice 
Lend an attentive ear: say, if your Maker 
Required such strict obedience, that you might 
Depend but on his word to move and guard you ; 
Was there not power sufficient in the laws 
Sublime of hope, of faith, and charity '{ 
Why then, fair creature, why, without occasion. 
Thus should he multiply his laws for man. 
For ever outraging with such a yoke 
Your precious liberty, and of great lords 
Making you slaves, nay, in one point inferior 
Even to the savage beasts. 
Whom he would not reduce to any law ? 
Who does not know that loading you so much 
With precepts, he has lessen'd the groat blessing 
Of joyous being, that your God tirst gave yuu V 
Perchance he dreaded that ye soon might grovY 
His equals both, in knowledge, and be gods y 
No, for thougli like to (iod you might become 
By sucli experiment, the difference still 
Between you must be great, since this your know. 
And acquisition of divinity, [I'idg*. 

Could be but imitation, and effect 
Of the first cause divine that dwells above. 
And can it then be true. 
That such a vital hand 
Can do a deadly deed ? 

Oh hadst thou tasted this, how would'st thou gain 
Advantage of th(> Lord, how then with him 
Would thy conversing tongue 
Accuse the latent mysteries of heaven ! 
Far other flowers, and other plants, and fields, 
And elements, and spheres. 

Far different suns, and different moons, and starts 
There are above, from those thou vieveest here. 
Buried below these ; all to thee are near, 
Observe how near! but at the very distance 
This apple is from thee. Extend thy hand. 
Boldly extend it, — ah! why dost thou paaseF 

'•^' 701 



nM ADAM: 

Eve. Wliat should 1 do ? Who counsels me, O €rod} 
Hope bids me live, and fear at once destroys me. 
But say, how art thou able 
To know such glorious things exist above, 
And that on earth, one tlitis may equal God, 
By feeding on this apple. 
If thou in heaven wert never. 
And ne'er permitted of the fruit to taste? 

Serpent. Ah ! is there ought I can deny to her 
Whose happiness I wish ? Now listen to me. 
When of this garden I was made the keeper, 
By him who fashion'd thee, 
All he has said to thee, to me he said ; 
And opening to me heaven's eternal bosom. 
With all his infinite celestial pomp. 
He satiated my eyes, and then thus spake : 
Thy paradise thou hast enjoy'd, O Serpent, 
No more thou shalt behold it ; now retain 
Memory of heaven on earth, 
Which thou may'st do by feeding on such fruit 
A heavenly seat alone is fit for man. 
For that's the seat of beauty ; 
Since thou art partly man and partly brute, 
'Tis just thou dwell on earth ; 

The world was made for various beasts to dwell in. 
He added, nor canst thou esteem it hard. 
Serpent and man, to dwell on earth for ever, 
Since thou already in thy human portion 
Most fully hast enjoy'd thy bliss above. 
Thus 1 eternal live. 

Forming my banquet of this savoury fruit. 
And paradise is open to my eyes, 
By the intelligence through me transfused 
From this delicious viand. 

Eve. Alas ! what should I do? to whom apply ? 
My heart, what is thy counsel ? 

Serpent. 'Tis true, thy sovereign has imposed upon 
Under the pain of death, ^thee, 

To taste not of this fruit ; 
And to secure from thee 
A dainty so delightful. 
The watchful guard he made me 
Of this forbidden tree ; 
So that if I consent, both man and thou, 
His beautiful companion. 
May rise to equal God in happiness. 
'Tis but too true that to participate 
In food and beverage with savage beastf, 
Gives us in this similitude to them j 
It is not just you both. 



?62 



A SACRED DRAMA. MS 

Works of a mighty Maker, 
Great offspring of great God, 
Should in a base condition. 
Among these groves and woods. 
Lead a life equal to the lowest beast 

Eve. Ah! why art thou so eager 
That I should taste of this forbidden food ? 
Serpent. Wouldst thou that I should tell P 
Eve. 'Tis all my wish. 
Serpent. Now lend thine ear, now arch. 
With silent wonder, both thy beauteous brows I 
For two proud joys of mine. 
Not for thy good alone, 1 wish to make thee 
This liberal overture, and swear to keep 
Silence while thou shalt seize the fruit denied. 
First to avenge that high unworthy wrong 
Done me by God, in fashioning my shape ; 
For I was deem'd the refuse of his heaven. 
For these my scaly parts. 
That ever like a snake I trail behind ; 
And then, because he should to me alone 
Have given this world, and o'er the numerous boaiit* 
Hava made me lord, not wholly of their kind ; 
But this my empire mighty and supreme, 
O'er all these living things, 
While man is doora'd 
To breathe on vital air. 
Must seem but low and servile vassalage ; 
Since man, and only man 
Was chosen high and mighty lord of all 
This wondrous scene, and he thus raised to grandeur 
Was newly form'd of nought. 
But when thf: fairest of all Eden's fruits 
Is snatch'd and tasted, when you rise to gods, 
'Tis just that both ascending from this world 
Should reach the higher spheres ; 
So that on earth to make me 
Of every creature lord, 
Of human error I my virtue make : 
Know, that command is grateful even to God, 
Grateful to man, and grateful to the serpent. 
Eve. I yield obedience : ah! whatis'tldo? 
Serpent. Rather, what do you not ? Ah, boldly 
taste. 
Make me a god on earth, thyself in heaven. 

Eve. Alas, how I perceive 
A chilling tremour wander through my bones, 
That turns my heart to ice I 

Serpent. It is thy mortal part that now begiM 
To languish, as o'ercome by the divine, 
Q2 

763 



346 ADXM: 

Which o'er its lowly partner 

In excellence ascends. 

Behold the pleasani plant. 

More lorely and more rich 

Than if it raised to heaven branches of gold. 

And bore the beauteous emerald as leavlss. 

With roots of coral and a trunk of silver. 

Behold this jewell'd fruit, 

That gives enjoyment of a state divine' 

How fair it is, and how 

It takes new colours from the solar rays 

Bright as the splendid train 

Of the gay peacock, when he whirls it round 

Full in the sun, and lights his thousand eyfjsl 

Behold how it invites! 

'Tis all delicious, it is sweetness all 

Its charms are not deceitful, 

Thine eye can view them well. 

Now take it ! Now I watch 

If any angel spy thee! Dost thou pause? 

Up ! for once more I am thy guide j at last 

The victory is thine! 

Eve. At length behold me the exalted mistress 
Of this most lovely fruit! 
But why, alas, does rny cold brow distil 
These drops, that overwhelm me ? 

Serpent. Lovely Virgin, 
Will not our reason tell us 
Supreme felicity is boufrht with pain ? 
Who from my brow will wipe 
These drops of keener pain ? 
Who dissipate the dread that loads my heart? 

Eve. Tell me what would'st thou ? tell me who 
afflicts thee ? 

Serpent. The terror of thy Lord; and hence I 
pray thee 
That when thou hast enjoy'd 
That sweet forbidden fruit, 
When both of you become eternal gods, 
That you would guard me from the wrath of Heaveo; 
Since well indeed may he. 

Whom we call God, kindle his wrath against me, 
Having to you imparted 
Taste of tb's fruit against his high command. 
But tell him, my desire 
To make "ne lord of this inferior world, 
Like man a god in heaven, 
Render'd me mute while Eve attain'd the apple. 

Eve. The gift I owe thee. Serpent, well deserre$ 
That I shouJd ne'er forget thee. 

7M 



A SACRED DRAMA. %a 

StiitPENT. 'N'ow in these verdant leav«s I hide my- 
Till thou with sounds of joy Qself 

Shalt call and re-assure me. 

Eve. Now then conceal thyself: I promise thee 
To be thy shield against the wrath of God. 
O what delicious odour! 'tis so sweet 
That I can well believe 
That all the lovely flowers 
From this derive their fragrance. 
These dewy leaves to my conception seem 
Moistened with manna, rather than with dew. 
Ah, it was surely right 
That fruit so exquisite 
Should flourish to impart new life to man, 
Not waste its sweets upon the wind and sun. 
Nothing for any ill 

To man could spring from God's creative hand : 
Since he for man assuredly has felt 
Such warmtn of love unbounded, I will taste it. 
How sweet it is! how far 
Surpassing all the fruits of every kind. 
Assembled in this soil ! 

But where is Adam now? O, Adam! Adam! 
He answers not ; then thou with speed depart 
To find him ; but among these flowers and leaves 
Conceal this lovely apple, lest the angels, 
Descrying it, forbid 
Adam to taste its sweets. 
And so from man be made a mighty god. 

Serpent. Extinguish in the waves thy rays, O bus 
Nor more distribute light! 
Thus Lucifer ordains, and thus the apple! 
Man, Man is now subdued ! 

Vain Glory. O joyous day! O day 
To hell of triumph, and of shame to heaven I 
Eve has enjoy'd the apple. 
And now contrives that man may taste it too. 
Now see by direst fate 
Life is exchanged for death ! 
Now I exulting sing, 
And hence depart with pride, 
Since man's high boast is crush'd. 
And his bright day now tum'd to hideous nightl 



SIS ADAM : 

ACT III. 

SCENE THE FIRST. 
Adam and Eve. 

Adam. Oh, my beloved companion t 
Oh thou of my existence. 
The very hear.t and soul ! 
Hast thou, with such excess of tender haste, 
With ceaseless pilgrimage, 
To find again thy Adam, 
Thus solitary wander'd ? 

Behold him! Speak! what are thy gentle orders? 
Why dost thou pause ? what ask of God ? what doot 
thou? 

EvE. Adam, my best beloved ! 
My guardian and my guide! 
Thou source of all my comfort, all my joy I 
Thee, thee alone I wish, 
And in these pleasing shades 
Thee only have I sought. 

Adam. Since thou hast call'd thy Adam 
(Most beautiful companion 1) 
The source and happy fountain of thy joy ; 
Eve, if to walk with me 

It now may please thee, I will show thee, lore, 
A sight thou hast not seen ; 
A sight so lovely, that in wonder thou 
Wilt arch thy graceful brow. 
Look thou, my gentle bride, towards that path 
Of this so intricate and verdant grove, 
Where sit the birds embower'd ; 
Just there, where now, with soft and snowy plumes, 
Two social doves have spread their wings for flight. 
Just there, thou shalt behold (oh, pleasing wonder!) 
Springing amid the flowers, 
A living stream, that with a winding course 
Flies rapidly away ; 
And as it flies, allures 

And tempts you to exclaim. Sweet river, stay! 
Hence, eager in pursuit 
You follow, and the stream, as if it had 
Desire to sport with you. 
Through many a florid, many a grassy way, 
Well known to him, in soft concealment fliea • 
But when at length he hears 
You are afHicted to have lost his sight. 
He rears his watery locks, and seems to say» 
Gav with a gurgling smile, 



766 



A SACRED DRAMA. 840 

* Follow ! ah follow still my placid course I 

If thou art pleased with me, with thee I sport.* 

And thus with sweet dece-it he leads you on 

To the extremest bound 

Of a fair flowery meadow; then at once. 

With quick impediment, 

Says, ' Stop ! Adieu ! for now, yes, now I leave you : 

Then down a rock descends : 

There, as no human foot can follow farther, 

The eye alone must follow him, and there, 

In little space you see a mass of water. 

Collected in a deep and fruitful vale, 

With laurel crown'd and olive. 

With cypress, oranges, and lofty pines. 

The limpid water in the sun's bright ray 

A perfect crystal seems ; 

Hence in its deep recess. 

In the translucent wave. 

You see a precious glittering sand of gold. 

And bright as moving silver. 

Innumerable fish ; 

Here with melodious notes 

The snowy swans upon the shining streams 

Form their sweet residence ; 

And seem in warbling to the wind to say, 
' Here let those rest who wish for perfect joy 1' 
So that, my dear companion. 

To walk with me will please thee. 

Eve. So well thy language to my sight has brought 

What thou desir'st to show me, 

I see thy flying river as it sports. 

And hear it as it murmurs. 

And beauteous also is this scene, where now 

Pleased we sojourn ; and here, perhaps, even here 

The lily whitens with the purest lustre. 

And the rose reddens with the richest hue. 

Here also bathed in dew 

Plants of minutest growth 

Are painted all with flowers. 

Here trees of amplest leaf 

Extend their rival shades 

And stately rise to heaven. 

Adam. Now by these cooling shades. 

The beauty of these plants, 

By these delightful meadows. 

These variegated flowers. 

By the soft music of the rills and birds. 

Let us sit down in joy! 
Eve. Behold then I am seated! 

How I rejoice in viewing not alcme 

70? 



S50 ADAM : 

These flowers, these herbs, these high and gracetui 
But Adam, thou, my lover, [plantn. 

Thou, thou art he, by whom the meadows seem 
More beautiful to me. 
The fruit more blooming, and the streams more clear. 

Adam. The decorated fields 
"With all their flowery tribute cannot equal 
Those lovelier flowers, that with delight I view 
In tlie fair garden of your beauteous face. 
Be pacified, you flowers, 
My words are not untrue ; 
You shine besprinkled with ethereal dew, 
You give the humble earth to glow with joy 
At one bright sparkle of the blazing sun j 
But with the failing sun ye also fall : 
But these more living flowers 
Of my dear beauteous Eve 
Seem freshen'd every hour 
Bv soft devotion's dew, 
That she with pleasure sheds 
Praising her mighty Maker : 
And by the rays of two terrestrial sung 
In that pure heaven, her face, 
They rise, and not to fall, 
Decking the paradise 
Of an enchanting visatro. 

Eve. Dear Adam, do not seek 
Vvith tuneful eloquence 
To soothe my ear by speaking of thy love ! 
The heart is confident. 

That fondly flames with pure and hallow'd ardour. 
In sweet exchange accept, my gentle love, 
This vermeil-tinctured gift, you know it well ; 
This is the fruit forbidden. 
This is the blessed apple. 

A DAM. Alas ! what see I ? ah ! what hast thou done 
Invader of tlic fruit 
Forbidden by thy God ? 

Eve. It would be long to tell thee 
The reason that induced me 
To make this fruit my prey ; let it suffice 
I gain'd thee wings to raise thy flight to heaven. 

A HAM. Ne'er be it true, ah never. 
That to obtain thy favour, 
I prove to heaven rebellious and ungrateful. 
And to obey a woman. 
So disobey my Maker and my God ! 
Then did not death denounced 
With terror's icy paleness blanch thy choek P 

Eve. And think'st thou, if the apple 

7(58 



A SACRED DRAMA. 351 

Were but the food of death, 

The great Producer would have raised it there 

Where being is eternal ? * 

Think'st thou, that if of error 
This fruit-tree were the cause, 
In man's delighted eye 

So fertile and so fair 

He would have form'd it flourishing in air p 

Ah! were it so, he would indeed have given 

A cause of high offence ; 

Since nature has ordain'd 

(A monitress sagacious). 

That to support his being, man must eat, 

And trust in what looks fair, as just and good. 
Adam. If the celestial tiller, 

Who the fair face of heaven 

Has thickly sown with stars. 

Amidst so many plants fruitful and fair 

Placed the forbidden apple, ' 

The fairest and most sweet, 

'Twas to make proof of man, 

As a wise keeper of his heavenly law, 

And to afford him scope for high desert ; 

For he alone may gain the name of brave, 

Who rules himself and all his own desires. 

Man might indeed find some excuse for sin. 

If scantily with fruits 

This garden were supplied ; 

But this abounding in so many sweets, 

Man ought not to renounce 
The clear command of heaven. 

Eve. And is it thus you love me ? 
Ne'er be it true, ah never. 
That I address you as my heart, my life! 
From you I'll only wander. 
Bathed in my tears, and sighing. 
And hating even myself, 
I'll hide me from the sun. 

AuAM. Dear Eve! my sweetest love! 
My spirit and my heart ! 
Oh haste to dry thine eyes ; 
For mine are all these tears 
That bathe thy cheek, and stream upon thy bosom. 

Eve. Ah, my unhappy state! 
1 that so much have said, so much have done 
To elevate this man 

Above the highest heaven, and now so little 
Can he or trust or love me ! 

Adam. Ah, do not grieve, my life I 
Too much it wounds my soul 
To bee thee in affliction. 



362 ADAM: 

Eve. I know yoitr sole desire 
Is to be witness to my sighs and tears ; 
Hence to the winds and seas 
1 pay this bitter tribute. 

Adam. Alas ! my heart is splitting. 
What can I do ? When I look up to heaven. 
I feel an icy tremour 
Even to my bones oppress me. 
Anxious alone to guard the heavenly precept : 
If I survey my partner, 
1 share her tears and echo back her sighs. 
'Tis torture and distraction 
To wound her with refusal : my kind heart 
Would teach my opening hand to seize the appla, 
But in my doubtful breast 
My spirit bids it close. 
Adam ! thou wretch I how many 
Various desires besiege thy trembling heart ! 
One prompts thee now to sigh. 
Another to rejoice ; nor canst thou know 
Which shall incline thee most, 
Or sighs, or joyous favour. 
From woman, or from God. 

Eve. Yet he reflects, and wishes 
That Eve should now forsake 
Her hope of being happy 
In elevating man 
Even while I hold the fruit of exaltation! 

Adam. Though mute, yet eloquent 
Are all your looks, my love ! 
Alas ! whate'er you ask 
You're certain to obtain ; 

And my heart grsmts before your tongue can speak. 
Eyes, that to me are suns. 
The heaven of that sweet face 
No more, no more obscure ! 
Return! alas! return 
To scatter radiance o'er that cloudy cheek! 
Lift up, O lift thy brow 

From that soft mass of gold that curis around it, 
Locks like the solar rays. 
Chains to my heart and lightning to my eyes I 

let thy lovely tresses. 
Now light and unconfined, 

Spoit in the air, and all thy face disclose 
That paradise, that speaks a heart divine! ^ 

1 yield thee full obedience ; 
Thy prayers are all commands ; 

Dry, dry thy streaming eyes, and on thy lips 
Let tender smiles like harmless lightning play 
Eve. Ah, misbelieving Adam, 



A SACRED DRAMA. Sfi 

Be now a kind receiver 

Of this delightful fruit! 

Hasten, now hasten to extend thy hand 

To press this banquet of beatitude! 

Adam. Oh, my most sweet companion, 
Behold thy ardent lover ! 
Now banish from his heart 
The whirlpool of affliction, turn'd to him 
His dearest guide, his radiant polar star I 
Show me that lovely apple, 
Which, 'midst thy flowers and fruits. 
Ingenious plunderer, thy hidest from me I 

Eve. Adam, behold the apple I 
What say'st thou ? I have tasted, and yet live. 
Ah, 'twill insure our lives. 
And make us equal to our God in heaven. 
But first the fruit entire 
We must between us eat ; 
And when we have enjoy'd it. 
Then to a radiant throne, a throne of stars, 
Exalting angel* will direct our flight. 

ADA.M. Give me the pilfer'd fruit. 
Thou courteous pilferer, 
Give me the fruit thai charms thee. 
And let me yield to her, 
Who to make me a god has toil'd and wept I 

Alas! what have I done ? 

How sharp a thorn is piercing to my heart 
With instantaneous anguish! 
How am I overwhelm'd 
In a vast flood of sorrow ! 

Eve. Alas ! what do I see ? 
Oh bitter knowledge ! unexpected sight! 
All is prepared for human misery. 

Adam. O precious liberty ! where art thou fled P 

Eve. O precious liberty! O dire enthralmentl 

Adam. Is this the fruit so sweet, 
The source of so much bitter? 
Say, why would'st thou betray me ? 
Ah, why of heaven deprive me I 
Why make me forfeit thus 
My state of innocence. 
Where cheerful I enjoy a blissful life P 
Why make me thus a slave 
To the fierce arms of death, 
Thou, whom 1 deem'd my life ? 

Eve. I have been blind to good. 
Quick-sighted but to evil, 
An enemy to Adam, 
A rebel to my God ; 

771 



354 ADAM : 

For tlaring to exalt me 

To the high gates of heaven, 

I fall presumptuous to the depths of hell. 

Adam. Alas, what dart divine appears in heaven, 
Blazing with circling flame ? 

Eve. What punishment. 
Wretch that I am, hangs cf'er me ? Am I naked P 
And speaking still to Adam ? 

Adam. Am I too naked? hide me! hence! 

Eve. I fly. 



SCENE THE SECOND. 

VoLANO. Thou'rt fallen, at length thou'rt fallon, 
O thou presuming 
With new support from the resplendent stars, 
To mount to seats sublime ! 
Adam, at length thou'rt fallen to the deep, 
As far as thy ambition hoped to soar ; 
Now see thou hast attain'd. 
To learn the distance between heaven ^nd helL 
Now let Avernus echo 

To the hoarse sound of the funereal trumpet ! 
Joyful arise to light, 
And pay your homage to the prince of hell. 



SCENE THE THIRD. 

Satan, VoLANo, Chorus 0/ Spirits, with their flagt 
flying and infernal instruments. 

VoLANo. Man is subdued, subdued ! 
Palms of eternal glory ! 
V/hy pause ye now ? to your infernal reeds 
And pipes of hoarsest sound, with pitch cemented. 
And various instruments of discord. 
Now let the hand and lip be quick applied ! 
Behold how triumph now to us returns, 
As rightly he foretold 

Our Stygian Emperor ! Spread to the wind 
Your fluttering banners ! Oh thou festive day 
To hell of glory, and to heaven of shame ! 



SCENE THE FOURTH. 

Serpent, Vain Glory, Satan, Volano, anc 

Serpent. To pleasures and to joys. 
Ye formidable dark sulphureous warriors I 



A SACRED DKAMA. as,"} 

Let fame to heaven now on her raven plumes 
Direct her rapid flight, 
Of man's completed crime 
The mournful messenger. 

Satan. Behold, again expanded in the air 
The insignia of hcH! 
Hear now the .sounds of triumph, 
And voices without number 
That raise to heaven the shout of victory ! 

Serpent. Lo, I return, ye spirits of Avemus, 
And, as I promised, a proud conqueror! 
Lo, to these deep infernal realms of darkness 
I bring transcendent light, transcendent joy ; 
Thanks to my fortitude, which from that giant 
Now wretched, and in tears. 
Forced iiis aspiring crown of fragile glass ; 
And thanks to her, this martial heroine, 
Vain Glory, whom to my proud heart 1 press. 

Satan. The torrent hastes not to the sea so rapid, 
Nor yet so rapid in the realm of fire 
Flashes kindle and die, 
As the quick circling hours 
Of good are join'd to evil 
In life's corrupted state ; 

The work of my great lo>-d, nor less the work 
Of thee, great goddess of the scene condemn'd ; 
Up, up with homage quick 
To show ourselves of both the blest adorers ! 

Serpent. Now, from their bended knees let all 
And to increase our joys, ^arise. 

Let thy glad song, Canoro, 
Now memorize the prosperous toil of hell. 

Canoro. Happy Canoro, raised to matchless bliss, 
Since 'tis thy lot to speak 
The prosperous exploits of Lucifer! 
Behold, I bend the knee. 
And sing thy trmmph in a joyous strain ! 
Behold, the glorious triumph 
Of that unconqucr'd power 
Who every power surpasses. 
The mighty monarch of the deadly realm I 
Now raise the tumid form, 
Avemus, banish grief; 
Man is involved in snares. 
And Death is glutted with his frail existence. 
This is the potent, brave, 
And ancient enemy 
Of man, the dauntless foe, 
And dread destroyer of the starry court 
No more contentment dwell 



T73 



356 ADAM : 

In the terrestrial seat: 

Thou moon and sun be darken'd, 

And every element to chaos turn! 

Man is at length subdued. 

From a corrupted source, 

A weak and hapless offspring, 

Thanks to the fruit, his progeny shall prove. 

To that exalted seat 

By destiny our due, 

Can death's vile prey ascend. 

Who now lies prostrate at the feet of hell ? 

Serpent. Silence, no more! Now in superior joyi 
Ye quick and fluttering spirits, 
Now, now, your wings expand, 
And, active in your pleasure, 
Weave a delightful dance ! 



SCENE THE FIFTH. 

A Chorus o/Sprights in the shape 0/ Antics, Sei. 
PENT, Satan, Volano, Canoro, Vain Qlory, 
and Spirits. 
To thee behold us flying. 
Round thee behold us sporting, 
O monarch of Avernus ! 
To recreate thy heart in joyous dance. 
Come, let us dance, happy and light, 
Ye little Sprights; 
Man was of flesh, now all dust. 
Such is the will of hideous death j 
A blessed lot 

No more is his, wretched in all. 
Now let us weave, joyous and dancing. 
Ties as many 

As now hell's prosperous chieftain 
Spreads around man, who weeps and wails, 
And now lifeless 

Is almost render'd by his anguish. 
Enjoy, enjoy in fragile vesture, 
Man, O heaven ; 

Stygian Serpent has o'erwhelm'd him j 
Wherefore let each dance in triumph, 
Full of glory. 

Since our king has proved victorious. 
But, what think'st thou ? Heaven in sorrow, 
On the sudden. 

He will spring to scenes celestial ; 
And he there will wreak his vengeance 
On the Godhead, 

7r4 



A SACRED DRAMA. 357 

That is now in heaven so troubled. 

Serpent. Ah, what lofty sounding trumpets 
Through the extensive fields of heaven rebellow ? 

Vain Glory. Ah, from my triumph now I fall to 
hell. 
Through subterraneous scenes exhaling fire, 
With all my fatal pomp at once 1 sink I 

Serpent. And I, alas, am plunging 
With thee to deepest horror ! 

Satan. Avoid, avoid, companions, 
This unexpected lustre. 
That brings, alas, to us a night of horror! 

VoLANO. Alas, why should we tarry ? 
Fly all, O fly with speed 
This inimical splendour. 
These dread and deadly accents, 
The utterance of God ! 



SCENE THE SIXTH. 
God the Father, Angels, Adam and Eva 

GOD the father. 

And is it thus you keep the law of heaven, 

Adam and Eve? O ye too faithless found, 

Ye children of a truly tender father; 

Thou most unhappy, how much hast thou lost. 

And in a moment, Adam! 

Fool, to regard the Serpent more than God. 

Ah could repentance e'er belong to Him 

Who cannot err, then might I well repent me 

Of having made this man. 

Now, Adam, thou hast tasted 

The apple, thou hast sinn'd. 

Thou hast corrupted God's exalted bounty r 

The elements, the heavens, 

The stars, the moon, the sun, and whatsoever 

Has been for man created. 

Now seems by man abhorr'd j and as unworthy 

Now to retain existence. 

To his destruction he solicits death. 

But since 'tis just that 1, who had proportion'd 

Reward to merit, should now make chastisement, 

Keep pace with guilt, contemplating myself, 

I view Astrea, in whose righteous stroke 

Lo, I myself descend, for I am justice. 

Why pausest thou, O sinner, in his presence. 

Who on a starry throne, 

As an offended judge prepares thy sentence t 

775 



858 ADAM : 

Appear! to whom do I address me P Adam, 
Adam, where art thou ? say ! dost thou not hear ? 
Adam. Great Sovereign of Heaven! if to thoM 
accents, 
Of which one single one form'd earth and heaven. 
My God, if to that voice. 
That call'd on Adam, a deaf asp I seem'd. 
It was terror struck me dumb : 
Since to my great confusion, 
I was constrain'd, naked, to come before thee, 

GOD THE FATHER. 

And who with nakedness has made acquainted 
Him, who although he was created naked. 
With innocence was clothed ? 

Adam. Of knowledge the dread fruit that I have 
The fault of my companion! [tasted ; 

Eve. Too true it is, that the malignant serpent 
Made me so lightly think of thy injunction, 
That the supreme forbiddance 
Little or nought I valued. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, thou sinner! O thou bud corrupted 

By the vile worm of error! 

Though eager to ascend celestial seats. 

An angel in thy pride, thy feeble wings 

Left thee to fall into the depths of hell. 

By thy disdain of life, 

Death is thy acquisition ; 

Unworthy now of favour, 

I strip thee of thy honours ; 

And soon thou shalt behold the herbs and flowers 

Turn'd into thorns and thistles. 

The earth itself this day by me accurst. 

Then shalt thou utter sighs in want of food. 

And from thy alter'd brow thou shalt distil 

Streams of laborious sweat, 

A supplicant for bread ; 

Nor ever shall the strife of man have end. 

Till, as he rose from dust, to dust he turn. 

And thou, first author of the first offence. 

With pain thou shalt produce the human birth. 

As thou hast taught, with anguish infinite. 

The world this fatal day to bring forth sin. 

Thee, cruel Serpent, 1 pronounce accursed ; 

Be it henceforth thy destiny to creep 

Prone on the ground, and on the dust to feed 

Eternal strife between thee and the womoo. 

Strife barbarous and deadly. 



A SACRED DRAMA. S89 

Thit. day do I denounce : 

If one has fallen, the other, yet victorious. 

Shall li -e to bruise thy formidable head. 

Now, 'midst the starry spheres. 

Myself 1 will seclude from human sight 



SCENE THE SEVENTH. 
An Angel, Adam, and Eve. 

Angel. Ah Eve, what hast thou lost, 
Of thy dread Sovereign slighting the commands! 
Thou Adam, thou hast sinn'd ; 
And Eve too sinning with thee. 
Ye have together, of the highest heaven 
Shut fast the gates, and open'd those of hell ! 
In seeking sweeter life. 
Ye prove a bitter death ; 
And for a short delight 
A thousand tedious sufferings. 
How much it had bee« better for this man 
To say, I have offended, pardon, Lord! 
Than to accuse his partner, she the serpent : 
Hence let these skins of beasts, thrown over both. 
Become your humble clothing; 
And hence let each be taught 
That God approves the humble. 
And God in anger punishes the proud. 

Adam. O man! O dust! O my frail destiny 
O my offence ! O death ! 

Eve. O woman! O of evil 
Sole gluttonous producer! 
O fruit! my sin! O serpent! O deceit! 

Angel. Now let these skins that you support upon 
Tell you the grievous troubles [?<*«. 

That you have to sustain ; 
Rude vestments are these skins. 
From whence you may perceive 
That much of misery must be endured 
Now in the field of life, 
Till death shall reap ye both. 
Now, now lament and weep. 
From him solicit mercy. 
For still your mighty Maker may be found 
Gracious in .heaven, indulgent to the world. 
Most merciful to man, 
If equal to the pride 
That made him err, his penitence will weep. 

Adam. Ah whither art thou fled? 
Where lonely dost thou lejve me ? 
O too dL«gusting apple, 

8 n 



Sm ADAM 

If thou canst render man to' angels hateful. 

Alas, my dread destruction 

Springs from a source so high, 

That it will find no end. 

Most miserable Adam ! if thou fallest. 

Ah, who will raise thee up ? 

If those eternal hands 

That should uphold the heaven, the world, and man. 

Closed for thy good, are open for thy ill, 

How much should'st thou express ! but tears and griel 

Fetter the tongue and overwhelm the heart! 

O sin! O agony! 

Eve. Adam, my Adam, I will call thee mine. 
Although I may have lost thee! 
Unhappy Eve acknowledges her error, 
.>he weeps, and she laments it. 
She sees thee in great anguish : 

could her tears wash out the grievous stain 
Thou hast upon thy visage ! 

Adam ! alas thou answerest not, and I 

Suffer in seeing thee so pale and pensive, 

Thy hands united in the folds of pain ! 

But if through deed of mine tliou hast occasion 

For endless shame and silence. 

Wilt thou reply to me ? do I deserve it ? 

1 merit only woe by being woman ; 
Eve has invented weeping, 

Eve has discover'd anguish, 

Labour and lassitude. 

Distraction and affright ; 

Eve, Eve has minister'd to death and hell! 

Adam. Enjoy, enjoy, O woman. 
My anguish, my perdition, and my death ; 
Banish me hence for loving thee too well! 
Ah, if tiiou wert desirous of my tears. 
Now, now extend Uiy hands, receive these streams 
That I must pour abundant from mine eyes ; 
If thou didst wish my sighs, lo! siglis I give thee; 
If anguish, view it; if my blood, 'tis thine; 
Rather my death, it will he easy to thee. 
Now to procure my death. 
If thou hast render'd me of life unworthy. 



SCENE THE EIGHTH. 

The Archangel Michael, Adam and Eve. 

Michael. Why this delay ? come on, be quick, 
depart, 
C»)rrupted branches, frorn this fair and beauteous 
TeiTPStrial paradise! Are ye so bold, 

3T8 



A SACRED DRAMA. 361 

Ye patrid vorms? come on, be quick, depart. 
Since with a scourge of fire I thus cominand you. 

Adam. Alas! I am destroyed 
By the fierce blow of this severe avenger ! 

Eve. Now sunk in vital power 
I feel ray sad existence, 
Evtai at the menace from this scourge of fire, [foot 

MiCHAiiL. These stony plains now must thy naked 
Press, in the stead of sweet and beauteous flowers. 
Since thy erroneous folly 
Forbids thy dwelling in this pleasant garden. 
Behold in me the punisher of those 
Who 'gainst their God rebel, and hence I bear 
These radiant arms that with tremendous power 
Make me invincible. I was the spirit 
Who, in the mighty conflict, 
Advancing to the north. 

Struck down great Lucifer, the haughty leader 
Of wicked angels, so that into hell 
They plunged precipitate and all subdued ; 
And thus it has seem'd good to my tremendous 
Celestial chief, that 1 shall also drive 
Man, rebel to his God, with this my sword 
Of ever-blazing fire. 

Drive him for ever from this scat of bliss. 
You angels all depart, and now with me 
E.vpand your plumes for heaven ; 
As it has been your lot. 

Like mine, on earth here to rejoice with man, 
Man once a demi-god, and now but dust, 
Here soon with falchions arm'd, 
Falchions that blaze with fire. 
As guardians of these once delightful gates. 
The brave and active Cherubim shall aid you. 



SCENE THE NINTH. 

Chorus of Angels that sing, Archangel, Adai*, 

and Eve. 
Adiet, remain in peace! 
O thou that liv'st in war! 
Alas, how much it grieves us. 
Great sinner, to behold thee now but dust. 
Weep! weep! indulge thy sighs. 
And view thy lost possession now behind thee; 
Weep ! weep ! for all thy sorrow 
Thou yet may'st see exchanged for songs of joy • 
This promise to the sinner heaven affords 
Who «'ontrite turns to heaven with holy zcaL 
R 

779 



362 ADAM : 

ACT IV. 

SCENE THE FIRST. 

VoLANO, Chorus 0/ Fiery, Airy, Earthly, and 
Aquatic Spirits. 

VoLANO. Forth from a thousand clouds ot flame 
and smoke; 
From the deep bosom of the spacious earth, 
I to these scenes a messenger return. 
Now to the fatal sound 
Of these entwisted pipes, 
By hissing snalces united, 
And all attuned to the fierce notes of death, 
Now cease, now cease ye all, 
Ye potent spirits, to reside in fire. 
Or in the air, in water, or in earth. 
Appear! why pause ye? such is the command 
Of your l)rave emperor, the chief of hell. 
Hark! hear ye not the sound 

That calls you forth from out your various dwellings? 
Behold! how from the sphere of blazing fire 
Arsiccio, of the blazing legion prince, 
Comes to pay homage to his mighty lord. 

Arion. Lo, from the field of air I too descend, 
I who am called Arion, 
The mighty ruler of this winged band, 
At the command of hell. 

Tarpalce. Of the infernal palace 
To bend before the prince. 
Forth from a thousand subterraneous paths 
The great Tarpalce, chief of earthly sprights. 
Raises his brow to heaven. 

Ondoso. From many a vein of water, 
From many a rising fount. 

From rills, and rivers, torrents, floods and streams. 
And from a thousand marshes, pools, and lakes. 
Such as I am, Ondoso, of soft spirits 
The humid, floating ruler, now on wing, 
Here even I attend, to reverence 
The subterranean power. 

VoLANO. Lo, from the dark abyss to lightsome air 
Great Lucifer now rising, and with him 
The most sagacious band 
Of hellish counsellors. 



A SACRED DRAMA. 863 



SCENE THE SECOND. 

Ll.ipkr, Fiery, Aiuy, Earthly, Aquatic, 
Infernal Spirits, and Volano. 

LiuiFER. Ah light! detested light! 
Vel unce again I look towards thy rays, 
The sightless mole of hell, 
And like a frantic angel. 
Dazzled and grieved at heart, 
Imniortally 1 die. 

Beliar. Of what dost thou complain ? whygriercs 
our god ? 
Clear up thy countenance, and see around 
How thy palms shake ; thy banners float in air, 
Signa of .hat valour which has conquer'd heaven, 
And now in triumph may enjoy the world; 
Ah, too imperfect is the victor's glory. 
If he exult not in his victory. 

Lucifer. Destructive victory! unworthy boast ! 
Laughter to weeping tum'd, 
Is that which thou esteem'st the praise of hell. 
Ah, heaven's high power has found 
A new expedient to our endless shame. 
To make our vanquish'd foe remain the victor, 
And triumph, though defeated. 

MiRiM. What barbed arrows in my wounded heart. 
Great lord, hast thou enfix'd! 

Lucifer. Ah ! for no other purpose have I call'd 
From realms of air and fire, [you 

From earth, from water, and the central depths. 
Save that we might project in council here 
How man may fall entirely overwhelm'd. 
If to destroy him by the fruit I fail'd. 

DiGRiGNAN. Ah, how can Adam live, 
If he indeed has eat the fruit forbidden, 
Condemning him to death ? 
Now well may we exclaim. 
That heaven this day inures itself to falsehood. 

Lucifer. Hear it, oh hell, and shudder at the 
sound. 
And let thy lively joys now turn to languor. 
Tell me, thou Beliar, how seems to thee. 
After the tasted fruit, man on the sudden 
Discover'd naked, and amid the branches 
Of thickest growth hastening to hide his shame ? 

Beliar. In viewing his own nakedness, he shows Oft 
The tasted fruit has robb'd him of all grace ; 
The very foliage where he hides informs him 
He is become a beast, 

761 



364 ADAM: 

And, like a beast, is doom'd in death to lose 
His body and iiis soul. 

Lucifer. Tliou, Coriban, relate wliy man has 
With the fig's ample leaf [form'd 

A mantle for his waist. 

Coriban. I'll tell you, — 'tis the nature of the fig 
To rise not high, and prove of short duration ; 
Still less may man expect to glory's height 
To raise himself ; for short shall be his date. 
All the contentious elements at war, 
Occasion'd by his sin, now in their conflict 
Shall overwhelm him, and the hope with souls 
More to embellish heaven'Shall be in vain. [pent, 

Lucifer. And thou, Ferea, what denotes the ser- 
Whom in his anger God is pleased to curse ? 

Ferea. I will be brief in telling all Ihat's true : 
When he pronounced a curse upon the serpent, 
Man had already heard his malediction; 
And thus to that he added. 
Prone on thy belly, Serpent, thou shalt grovel, — 
As if to man suggesting. 
Dark as a riddling god, man is of clay ; 
And clay shall now be destitute of soul, 
As destitute of soul each other reptile. 

Lucifer. Thou, Solobrico, tell me, what think'st 
thou 
Of this strange speech to man — 
Thou by thy sweat must gain 
The bread that forms thy food. 

SoLOBUico. This bread to us discovers 
The life of man's frail body, 
A body form'd of earth, as now indeed 
Grain must be drawn from earth to make this bread. 
The vital element : 

His sweat denotes the element of water, 
His countenance is air, his labour fire ; 
So that this dark expression 
Of being doom'd to gain his bread by sweat, 
To man says. Thou shalt live. 
In many griefs and troubles, 
A sliort space in the world ; 
Then is thy lot to die. 
Turning again to earth, air, water, fire. 

Lucifer. And, Gismon, thou, to woman when he 
That with the pangs of birth fsaid, 

She should produce her offspring, say what meaning 
Lurk'd in that new expression to bring forth ? 

GisMON. This said expression birth 
Denotes the being born. 
When her young progeny shall rise to light: 

7&% 



A SACRED DRAMA. 366 

He also might denote a new partition 

By this new word bring forth, 

Innumerable pains, 

In which the suffering parents 

Shall both participate to rear their children. 

Of body and of soul 

The certain death I see in this expression : 

That this may be, turning to man he said. 

That he should die, and then to Eve he added, 

That she with bitter anguish should bring forth. 

Now this mysterious saying nothing means, 

If not that man is meant 

By death corporeal, and his frail companion 

By death that strikes the soul j 

Thus from mortality. 

With loss reciprocal, the soul is taken : 

And thus, when each has languish'd. 

The body in its dying. 

The soul in its departure. 

Leaving at length its transient dear abode ; 

So verified shall be the mighty sentence 

From him, the mighty Judge, 

Of bringing forth with dire excess of pain. 

Lucifer. All you, that most sagacious 
I reckon'd once in my infernal kingdoms, 
I find now least sagacious. 
To thee I turn, Arsiccio, tell me now 
What means that mystery. 
The cursing of the earth ? 

Arsiccio. And to the blame of man I too return 
Can it be true this cursing of the earth ? 
What does the mystery mean ? 
Means it indeed the earth ? 
Foolish is he who thinks so ! what offence 
Has she committed ? no, 'twas not the earth 
Was cursed, but only man, who is of earth ; 
And human nature all is cursed with him ; 
And that decree, it should no more bear fruit, 
Was utter'd for no purpose 
But to proclaim to man, 
That, as a sinner, heaven is shut against him. 

LcciFER. Arion, thou exalt thyself in air; 
Do thou inform me why with skins of beasts 
[this man and his companion were array'd. 

Arion. This clearly shows to us 
That God no longer makes account of man. 
Hear rae, unconquer'd sovereign : 
This clothing Adam with the lifeless skins 
Of fleeced animals to us imports. 
That, as with dying beast, 

7Sa 



366 ADAM : 

The body, soul, and spirit, also die, 
So death shall also prove 
The dread destroying ravager of men 
By the dread fruit's eflfect. 

Lucifer. Ondoso, thou who art profest a diver. 
Canst thou pervade the depth 
Of these confused decrees ? inform me now 
What means the mystery 
Of cherubim with fiery falchions 
Forbidding entrance to the gates of Eden. 

Ondoso. No mystery, great king. 
But the destruction of the human race 
Portended by these falchions 
They mean indeed the death 
Of man's terrestrial form. 
And their fierce blades of fire 
Damnation to his soul : 
So that when struck by death 
The body shall be ashes, and the soul 
Shall by eternal justice 
Within the dark Avernus 
Become a prisoner, lost to light and heaven 
Now blest are we, since we behold it clear, 
That, rising to the realms above, 'tis ours 
To make Olympus joyful, since when we 
Resign'd our seat in heaven, 
At those exalted gates 
No armed cherubim was placed to guard ; 
Thus all is justly weigh'd, 
And in an even balance ; 
For now the world's inhabitants shall be 
The birds, the fish, the beasts; 
Of the Tartarean gulf 
Man and his numerous race ; 
We only on gay wing shall soar to heaven. 
On this supreme condition, 

That heaven's great Lord shall pardon ask of thet. 
Repenting of his error, and that both 
Shall rule the realm of heaven, 
Both Lucifer and God. 

Lucifer. Tarpalce, say what thinkest thou of man,? 

Tarpalce. 'Tis not my sentiment man can be saved. 
In short, this man has sinn'd ; 
And he who draws from man his flesh and life, 
He shall be call'd a sinner; 
And he who is a sinner shall be damn'd; 
AHd since it is denied 

That these the seats of heaven, that once were ours. 
Neglected shall be left, and void of glory, 
Well may we re- ascend, with brave condition, 

784 



A SACRED DRAMA. 807 

The hearen once more returning to itself. 

Sufficiently ve Icnow 

It otherways would still be void of splendour. 

Since God no longer knows 

What CO achieve that may embellish heaven. 

Ltjcifer. Alas, 'tis fit that 1 
Fro:n a deep silence now 

Loose this chill'd tongue, chill'd though it seems t« 
With cruel deadly rage! [bum 

My heart is bursting only at the thought 
Of what I must relate ; 
>low with great efforts vanquishing myself, 
Let that be heard which anguish bids me utter/ 
The fear he felt to show himself when naked 
Was from the mighty shame 
To see himself bespotted 
With sin's deformity. 

His flight with rapid steps towards the woods. 
As to the sea the swollen torrent flies, 
Denotes his great repentance of his sin. 
That leafy screen in which he hid himself 
Denotes his coarse and rustic penitence, 
Till with long abstinence he shall atone 
With punishment for sin. 
The harsh and ample leaf 
Of fig, still more expressive, 
Tells it will be man's lot 
With coarse and hairy vest 
To cover every fault j 
And as upon the fig, 

Among its harshest leaves, a dulcet fruit 
Arises, thus at last shall man himself, 
'Midst all his penitence, enjoy the fruit 
So sweet and dear of heaven, that he had lost : 
The verdure of the leaf 
Affords a certain hope 

That man may have of God's returning grace ; 
That he at length in heaven 
Shall know a blooming spring of highest glory 
The double summons, thus bestow'd on man. 
Tells us he shall have time 
To weep, though sinning, his repented sin. 
If he was pleased to execrate the serpent. 
There hell may understand 
That it was not the serpent 
Who then offended God; from whence he said. 
Prone on thy belly. Serpent, thou shalt creep! 
Alas, too clearly saying. 
Quit every hope, O ye that now abide 
By the infernal streams, 

786 



368 ADAM: 

Quit every hope of heaven ! 

And when between this woman and the serpent 

His word denounced, alas ! eternal war. 

Ah then he comprehended human nature, 

Which bears a female name. 

What then are now our direst enemies ? 

Inhabitants of heaven ! 

So that our most tormenting adversary 

Is now no other but this human nature, 

Made an eternal denizen of heaven. 

What more, alas! (have I the force to speak UP) 

The saying that the woman 

Shall one day bruise his head, 

With mystery severe 

Shows us the incarnation of the Word. 

Saying to man his bread 

He now by sweat must earn, is it not saying 

After hard toil thou shall to heaven ascend? 

Alas ! perhaps it means 

That bread may life denote. 

Since man is destined to have life in heaven. 

If for the apple God was pleased to say 

That man transgressing shall be doom'd to death. 

He of the body spake ; 

The spirit is immortal. 

When in his speech to Eve 

He doom'd her to bring forth, that indicates 

Eternity assign'd to human nature. 

The guard of cherubim that wheel around 

Their fiery swords, forbidding 

All feet to tread on that delicious garden, 

I would declare to mean 

But to cold marble turns my faltering tongue. 

Briar. Shall it be said that Briar checks his tongue? 
Believe not thou, our lord, 
That man to heaven shall soar; 
Too feeble are his wings ; 
Had he no other bar, 
I am alone prepared to give him death, 
Arm'd with a mighty club, or with a stone, 
ITiough sure to be condemn'd 
Myself alone to all the pains of hell; 
Since I can well discern. 
That in continual thinking of my glory, 
Infernal pain will turn to heavenly joy. 

Lucifer. O noble, generous ardour I 
Trust me, not less avails 
A heart magnanimous for glory panting. 
Than a decided triumph. 
Let us remain in hell, 



A SACRED DRAMA. 

Since there is more content 

To live in liberty, though all condemn'd. 

Than, as his vassals, blest. 

Up from these filthy dregs, 

A hideous mass, sulphureous, rough, and round, 

Let there be raised to light ; 

So wills the mighty chieftain of damnation. 



SCENE THE THIRD. 

The infernal Cyclops, armed loith hammers, and all 
those of the preceding Scene. 

Behold the smiths of hell, 

That, worn with toil and smoke, 

To heaven are raising this enormous ball, 

Now fashion'd in Avernus 

Lucifer. Now as a perfect rival 
Of God, I will, that I>ucifer be seen. 
He highly seated, on his throne in heaven. 
To us reveal'd the world, and thence arose 
Our banishment from heaven, and I this day, 
Raising Vain Glory to a throne of splendour, 
Have now contrived to exterminate mankind. 
If he from nothing made the ample world, 
I too a nothing will now make of worlds, 
Or of the world a nothing. 
Now let this dark and misty mass dissolve, 
And in the place of elements, and heavens. 
Of all the stars, the moon, and radiant suns. 
Let there come forth a strange unfinish'd monster. 

Ondoso. O what a stormy burst, what monsters rise. 
All horrible and hissing. 
With forms enormous howling, 
And breathing blasts of fire ! 

Lucifer. Thou that now seem'st a dark and hideous 
monster, 
I will array thee in a human semblance, 
Though but of vapour form'd ; 
Thou Shalt be call'd the World. 
Instead of shags, and vestments wild. 
Sweat Ihou beneath a load of gems and gold. 
For well I know how henceforth in my service 
Gold may be used in tempting man to sin. 
Such thou shalt have around thee ; 
On thee I will bestow voice, gesture, snares. 
In strictest tie to catch 

The human foot of clay that walks incautious ; 
And all that thou canst wish 
R2 

f87 



370 ADAM : 

To overwhelm this man, all thou shalt have. 
Thou beast of monstrous slmpe, 
Thou like a lovely damsel shalt appear, 
Thou shalt be call'd the Flesh, 
With wiles, deceits, and ardours, in thy train. 
Whence man may fall in unbecoming errors : 
And, monster, thou that art 
do hideous and so meagre, Death be call'd : 
Be thou all human bone. 
All ice, all madness, all a mass of horror 
To the unhappy sinner. 
Ye four terrific forms, of wildest semblance, 
For horrid deeds I choose you, 
111 omen'd words, and acts of cruel nature. 
Your fashion to display. 
Up, up, let each return 
To his own element, his proper sphere! 
Come ! why delay to fire ? 
Haste all with me. 
And hence in silence glide, 
Abandoning the light 



SCENE THE FOURTH. 

Adam. Wretch that thou art ! now cast thine eyes 
No longer shalt thou see [around. 

Aught to console thy pain. 
Ah ! in that very thought. 
Sorrow so wounds my heart, 
My tears so overwhelm me. 
That in a sigh I seem to breathe my last. 
Where, Adam, is thy beauty ? where thy grace, 
That made thee dear to angels and to God? 
Ah! thou alone hast dared 
To stain thy nature, and to wound thy soul ! 
Is this, is this the way 

To please that Being who on thee bestow'd 
Whate'er thou seest around thee, with a promise 
To give thee in the stars a heavenly mansion ? 
Rather on fruit forbidden 
To feed, than on the living words of God, 
Has been thy choice; and lo. 
Thou from an angel to a beast art changed ! 
And, more than other beasts 
Driven as a monster from this pleasant garden, 
And thus in skins array'd ! Alas ! I dare not 
Lift up my eyes to heaven, yet it becomes me, 
Low on my knees, to view the good I lost, 



A SACRED DRAMA : 3TI 

And in. lamenting say, — 

Dear seat of God, thou should'st have been the seat 

Of Adam also ; but thou art lost to me. 

Thee have I lost, alas! and found instead 

Of thee, both death and hell. 

hide, in pity hide, thy splendour, heaven! 
Since Adam is a sinner. 

Conceal your light, ye stars ; 

Vanish, thou moon and sun ; 

Eternal horror be the fate of man, 

Since Adam is a sinner. 

Now in the faithful choir of angels cease, 

Ye soothing melodies. 

Since Adam is a sinner. 

Behold, with pain behold. 

How, from thy dread offence. 

All things this day appear to change their form. 

All hold thee in abhorrence, 

All from thy aspect fly ! 

Ah, thou may'st well exclaim, 

There, from the verdant stem and parent tree, 

The rose is fled, and leaves thee but the thorn ! 

There sinks each flower, within the grassy earth 

Hiding its head precipitate, and scarce 

Where it display 'd its pride now shows its stalk; 

Well may'st thou add, in plucking here the apple 

Thou gavest a fatal shake to every tree, 

Then bringing to the ground 

Each leaf, each flower, and every blooming fruit 

Ah, how despoil'd and waste 

All now appears to me ; all shade and horrors ; 

Produced by man's rebellion to his God. 

Where, where are now the gay and sprightly binli 

That on their painted plumes 

Round me were used to sport and flutter here ? 

Ah, your closed wings I see 

Amidst the thickest leaves, and fearing all 

The deadly snares of Adam. 

Where, where is now the tiger, bear, and lion. 

The wolf, the pard, and thousand other beasts, 

Obedient all to man, and in his train ? 

Alas! now made voracious 

Of human carnage and of smoking blood 

1 now behold you all. 

Sharpening 'gainst man the talon and the tooth. 

Where now, ah where, their young 

May all the fleecy kind 

Let fall in s:ifety ? for, alas, I see 

No longer will they offer 

Their milky dugs to thee, their dugs or offspring 

Since to escape from man. 



372 ADAM : 

Now, now, I see them eager, 

Man lurn'd into a wolf 

By having seized an apple. 

All fly, and all abhor thee, 

And from thee, barbarous, learn barbarity. 

Hence in the earth and sea, 

Beyond their custom, now 

All fish, and all the beasts, 

To battle seem to invite thee j 

See now the wolf and lamb, 

She who of late not far from him might wander, 

See how she bleating flies from his unfaithful 

Tusk, now expecting bloody violence! 

Behold the hare, beliold 

How timid she is made, and the dog fierce 

In striving for her life, 

While more than native fear to flight inclines her 

Behold that dusky beast. 

That with white tusks of an enormous size 

Extends its weighty jaw. 

That now forgetting to revere the moon. 

Intractable, ferocious. 

Beyond its native temper. 

Rushes in anger with its fibrous trunk 

That serves it for a nose. 

Against the horn which the rhinoceros 

Sharpens of hardest stone! 

Behold the sea enraged. 

Now, by thy rage, the very sea inflamed 

Takes up the fish within its watery arms. 

And in a thousand caverns. 

Against the mossy stones 

Now strikes, and now entombs them. 

At length, behold that ox. 

That now beneath thy crooked yoke of wood 

To turn the sterile earth 

Thou must contrive to couple. 

See how he darts an eye of fire uuon thee. 

And foaming now, and panting, fiercely points 

His crooked horn, and threatens thee with death. 

And more, yet more, the earth 

Provokes thee now to conflict. 

Thanks to thy dire offence ; 

And since her bosom must by thee be wounded. 

Strives with thee for thy viands, arm'd herself 

With thistles and with thorns. 

I've sinn'd, O Lord, I've sinn'd! 

I've sinn'd, and for my fault 

My mournful heart in weeping I distil. 

Why wretched do I speak ? see what a band 

790 



A SACRED DRAMA. 373 

Of beasts made barbarous, 

Of hostile beasts, now wet 

With crimson's deadly stain, 

I see around me, darting from their caves I 

Alas ! what see I more ? wretch that T am ! 

Behold, from them affrighted Eve is flying! 



SCENE THE FIFTH. 

Adam and Eve. 

Eve. Ah whither shall I fly ? and where conceal 

Adam. Haste to my arms, O haste! [me ? 

Let him who sinn'd like thee. 
Like thee become of savage beasts the prey ! 

Eve. Ah, every path becomes 
The pass of death to one of life unworthy ; 
Here in this cavern's depth. 
Here let us plunge, O Adam. 

Adam. Ah, they at length depart; yet not from 
Will misery depart, or mortal anguish. [man 

Oh wondrous wretchedness, even pleasure weeps, 
Joy wears the form of sorrow. 
And life itself now dies. 

Eve. Ah, how I grieve, O Adam ! 
Oh heaven ! what tears I shed, 
How do I sigh, O God, wounded in heart. 
Now, nor alive nor dead! 

Adam. But hark, what horrid roarings 
Make air rebellow, and the valleys shake ! 



SCENE THE SIXTH. 

Famine, Thirst, Lassitude, Despair, Adam, Eve. 

Famine In vain from our quick grasp 
You strive to fly, vile offspring of the earth ! 
And from the thousand ills that heaven intends theej 
Fly not, for 'tis in vain. Ye now around 
Block up the paths, and guard each avenue ! 
Famine am I, who in this hideous form 
Now show myself to man. 
To prove how keen I am. 
With bitterness to poison all his sweets ; 
And from the semblance I reveal, thou wretch. 
Clearly shalt thou perceive. 
Beyond all other creatures, 

791 



374 ADAM : 

How sharply Famine's piercing shaft shall wound 

And as I now devour these tender shoots ["thee ; 

Of the young fruitful vine, 

And suck, with eager thirst, the dulcet juice, 

So from thy feeble bones, that now derive 

Infirmity from sin, 

Soon will 1 tear the flesh, 

And suck thus fiercely from thy veins the blood. 

And this fierce monster that you now behold. 

Keen at the limpid fountain 

To satiate its thirst, and foil'd, attempting 

With harpy talon to pollute the water, 

This is call'd Thirst ; and now, in such a form, 

Both horrible and fierce. 

To thee appears, that thou may'st comprehend 

How wildly raging thou shalt feel its fury. 

And this is Lassitude, 

That Lassitude which now on thee shall pour 

The mighty streams of sorrow. 

See how her figure melts in drops of anguish. 

In raising on her back 

That heavy burden of enormous weight! 

'Tis hers to make thee, Adam, 

So worn with toil, that from thy pallid visage 

The copious streams of painful sweat shall pour; 

And Lassitude shall so annoy thy frame, 

That thou shalt hate thy life. 

Hence, at the last, perforce ye both shall pass 

Through unaccustom'd ways of wretchedness 

To this dire monster, savage and tremendous, 

Who henceforth on the earth 

Shall bear of Desperation 

The desperate name; look, and behold how fiercely 

He in convulsion rolls, and shrieks, and roars ; 

See how he tears his hair and grinds his teeth, 

WouEfls ail his frame, and makes his breast re-echo 

With his repeated blows I 

This fierce, relentless monster 

Shall so afflict thee, that thou shalt be eager 

To turn, and hasten to an end more wretched : 

And if, perchance, thou think'st I speak not true, 

See him, who from his deep and dark domain 

In blackest vapour wrapt. 

Circled with globes of fire, appears before theel 



78S 



A SACRED DRAMA. 873 



SCENE THE SEVENTH. 
Death, Adam, and Ev^e. 
Death. Thou art the creature, Woman, 

Who first hast summon'd me, 

And with a sinful voice. 

From the Tartarean shades ; 

Thou, perishable flesh and form of clay, 

Hast call'd this fearful monster, 

Of humaa bones compacted, 

This day to look upon the light of heaven. 

Say now what would'st thou speak? 

Dost thou abhor thy life ? 

Behold the sickle-bearer, and the sickle 

That now invites thee to desert the day. 

Now with a lynx's eye, 

I see, in looking into future time, 

Tc my dread name and these ungodly arms, 

What fatal trophies rise. 

But what ! not here shall end the full perdition 

With which heaven threatens thee ; such mighty evm 

Hell now prepares for thee. 

And such excess of horrors, 

That I, I who am Death, 

Wish for destruction to escape their sight. 

Thou art condemu'd to die, 

Thy residence is hell, 

Become a rebel to thy mighty Maker. 

Adam. Oh sourc»? of tears! Oh sorrow! 
Oh miserable sinner ! 

Eve. Ah me! most wretched Eve! 

The origin of sin. ^ [withdraws 

Adam. Ah, how the heaven grows dark how it 
Its light from us, who are of light unworthy ! 
But ah ! what flame in heaven quickens and dies. 
Dazzling our sight, and sudden darts away, 
A serpent all of fire ? 

Eve. Alas ! not here the wrath of heaven shall 
First we must suffer death. ^ \ 

ADAM. Ah, what rebellowing sounds I hear above ! 
Perchance with such a voice , , ,j 

Oflfended Heaven now drives us from the woria. 
And sends us banish'd to the gulfs below ' 
What shafts, how numberless 

Strike down the woods and groves! with what wua 
The raging winds contend ! [.tore* 

Now rushes from the sky ^ , ., , 

Water congeal'd to forceful globes of hail.' 

3E 793 



376 ADAM: 

Eve. Alas! how from on high 
The swelling waters pour, 
That rising o'er their banks, 
The proud o'er flowing rivers 
Now put tlie beasts to flight. 
And in the groves and woods 
Precipitately drive the fish to dwell! 

AUAM. Fly ! let us haste to fly 
Up to those lofty mountains, 
Where heaven now seems at last 
Satiate with ceaseless thundering to repote! 



ACT V. 

SCENE THE FIRST. 
The Flesh and Adam. 

THE FLESH. 

If in a bosom form'd in lonely woods. 

An amorous lure, the engine of deceit, 

May wake a blazing spark, 

And raise an inextinguishable fire ; 

This day to me shall shine a day of triumph, 

When in desire's fierce flames 

I shall behold that heart. 

Which love's devouring flame yet has not touch'<i 

And now, if aught of potency resides 

In golden tresses or a breast of snow, 

A radiant eye, a cheek of rose and lily. 

And teeth of pearl, and lips that vie with coral. 

In beauty, grace, allurements, arts and gestures. 

To make a wretched mortal heart their captive. 

Such tresses, such a breast, 

A cheek, and teeth, and lips. 

And my intelligent engaging manners. 

Will hold thee fetter'd in a thousand snares. 

Behold, not distant far, the simple bird 

I opportunely see. 

Who for my tempting lure 

His habitation quits, and his companion, 

To fall at once by amorous deceit : 

O how to earth dejected. 

He bends his watery eyes in deep afSiction! 

Thou art not yet transflx'd 

By my prevailing shaft, but now it seeks the«, 

794 



^A SACRKD DRAMA. 377 

SHE SINGS. 

Dearest Adam, grieved and fainting. 

Let my song thy spirit comfort I 

And with thee, 

O let me 

Lead a life of true enjoyment ! 

Gentle Adam, son of glory, 

Hearken, hearken! meek and humble 

Sounds the artless song unpolish'd 

That invites thee 

But to kindness ; 

Give, O give me ease and quiet, 

Gentle Adam, son of glory ! 

But if thou with different feelings 

Wish to wound this tender bosom, 

See it naked ! 

Strike ! O cruel. 

Wherefore pause you ? Haste to kill me! 

By your hand 1 fall contented. 
Adam. O thou all-seeing Lord, 
If real grief may touch thee. 
Survey the contrite sinner, 
Who through his eyes distils his heart in tears. 
No ! of thy mercy do not close the hand. 
Since what sustains me now must fall and perish. 
Behold, behold, dread Lord ! unhappy man, 
Who from the fata! fruit 
Has to encounter all the snares of hell ; 
Defend him ; he is thine, thine thou hast call'd him. 
And having once been thine, thou must have loved 

him. 

THE FLESH. 

Go, full of terror and desire ! I must 

With the impetuous be meek and coy, 

And with the timid bold, and urge him on 

Till love's keen canker-worm 

Prey on the simple heart. 

That never yet has felt the sting of passion. 

Adam. Who may this be? alas, both hope and fear 
Urge me to seek, and bid me still be silent. 

THE FLBSH. 

This lowliness, and this affected coyness 

With an undaunted lover, this presumption 

With one more soft and timid, are so prevailing 

They seem two strong incentives 

To kindle the fierce flame of love's desire : 

When'^e I a skilful mistress 

Brandish my tongue, 

795 



378 ADAM ; 

And give a mortal wound. 
Say, why art thou so pensive, 

my most gentle Adam ? 

Adam. Restrain, restrain thy step, 
Whoe'er thou art, nor with thy songs inveigle 
Him, who has only cause for ceaseless tears. 

THE FLESH. 

Without thy strict injunction, 

Creature of noble semblance, 

To stand aloof from thee 

Grieves me ; I want the courage to approach 

The flowery bloom of thy engaging face, 

Fearing lest serpents in thy radiant eyes 

For ever on the watch, 

With slings devoid of pity pierce my heart 

But every bitter root 

That leads thee to suspicion, 

1 from thy breast will pluck ; for know, I am 
The very soul of love; yes! of that love 
Which has induced thy Maker 

From nothing to make all : 

And since in that debased 

Condition into which thy sorrows sunk thee. 

This love alone can draw thee, 

To the low world I took my flight from heaven. 

Perchance thou may'st suppose, enjoying love, 

That thou must therefore lead a savage life, 

A lover of the brutes ; 

No, no, adorning all thy form with flowers. 

And wearing on thy locks a wreath of palm, 

Thou Shalt enjoy a vest of gold and silver. 

Such as I wear, and such as high in heaven 

The radiant tissue shines, when sun and moon 

Weave their united rays. 

Thine eyes shall sparkle with resplendent fire. 

On thy warm cheek a graceful blush shall glow 

And when in ecstacy thy lip is press'd. 

Its richer hues shall make the coral pale. 

Say, at the very sound dost thou not feel 

Thy heart dissolve in amorous joy ? 1 see 

Thou art delighted, Adam. 

Adam. I love, in truth I love, 
But only burn with love 
For my almighty Maker. 

THE FLESH. 

The soul alone can love. 

Can love this heavenly Lord : 

But in these sublunary woodland scenes, 

Love has delights of a corporeal kind. 

796 



A SACRED DRAMA. 379 

Adam. The love thou speak'st of it. is mine to prore 
With my beloved consort. 

THE FLESH. 

Yes ! that is true ; yet only sons of death 
Can spring from your affection. 
Adam. Sad fruit of my offence! 

THE FLESH. 

Ah, but immortal children 
From me shall spring, if thou wilt yield to me. 
Amidst these herbs and flov?ers 
Be ours sublimest love ! 
Simple! extend thy hand. 

Behold, and touch my breast, that thou veilt find 
Far different from the breast of mortal Eve. 
If thou wilt love, shall I not make thee worthy 
Of the unbounded joy 

To steal thee from thyself? Ah come, ah come, 
To this pure bosom that I show thee, Adam! 
Oh say to me, I love thee ! 
Perchance thou may'st believe, 
Each man to spring from thee 
Ought to be happy with a single woman ; 
Each woman too contented 
To love one man alone ! 
Simple, if such thy thought : 
For all the sweets of love 
Become more poignant by the change of lovers. 
See how eacti animal, that dwells on earth, 
Leads a delicious life. 
By changing its affection ; 

And thou, sole sovereign of each living creature, 
Shalt thou content thee with a single lover ? 
Adam. Let sorrow's flame convert ray heart to 
ashes. 
Rather than it may bum with double love ! 
Hence then! depart! for a blind mole am I 
To all thy proffer'd beauty j 
And truly in thy presence 
I feel no touch of love. 

THE FLESH. 
O thou most icy heart! 
Now kindle with the flame of my affection. 
Behold this ample cavern of the earth ; 
Lo, it was made for love ; whate'er it holds 
Within its spacious circuit, 
Of love perceives the fire. 
Love rules the earth, the sea, the air, and fire 4 

191 



380 ADAM : 

With endless love a hundred genial stars. 

Not moving from their sphere. 

Scatter their flames through heaven j 

And other wandering planets 

Through those exalted regions 

Direct their golden steps. 

What river, fount, or stream. 

Unconscious flows, and destitute of love? 

What frozen sea does love not penetrate 

With his imperious ardour ? 

What glowing ocean does not oft discover 

A visage pale and wan, 

As if infirm with love ? 

What flower, what plant, or stone. 

Wishes for love in vain, of love deprived ? 

Whate'er inhabits heaven, or earth, or sea. 

Burns in the flame of love. 

Behold that sportive bird of painted wing, 

That goes with fluttering joy from bough to bough, 

And iu his song declares he sings of love ! 

Behold the sweet and oft-repeated kisses 

Of those two doves, what dost tlwu thinli of them ? 

Of love they are the kisses. 

The beauteous peacock see. 

That gaily fondles his attractive mate j 

He whirls the plume of love. 

Hear you that nightingale, does she not mourn, ? 

Now does she not exult ? now 'tis her joy 

With her melodious warble 

To stun the valleys, and make glad the hills. 

Simple, what dost thou think ? 

'Tis love that makes her tuneful. 

Behold that river with its banks of flowers. 

Its stream of purest silver, 

And of fine gold its sand; 

Behold, dost thou not see within its bosom 

A thousand fishes glide ? 

They lead the dance of love. 

Behold that sportive goat, that butting runs 

Exulting o'er the plain. 

His conflicts are from love. 

Look there, and see amidst a thousand folds 

Those close entwisted snakes. 

That in a single being seem combined : 

Coy Adam, even tliese 

Weave the close web of love. 

Behold, at length where yonder clustering vim 

Her amorous arms around the elm extends; 

She also burns with love. 

Even that flower, that ever courts the sun. 



A SACRED DRAMA : 331 

Thus in its glances speaks, 

I dart the glance of love I 

And thou unmelting soul I wilt thou alone. 

Wilt thou disdain to feel 

That which all creatures prove ? 

Nought can resist ray golden pungent dart, 

Nor air, nor fire, nor sea, nor earth, nor heaven. 



SCENE THE SECOND. 
Lucifer, The Flesh, and Adam, 

THE FLESH. 

Now bum with love, and bless the fond desire 

Of her, whom the Creator 

Made blazing all with love. [locks 

Adam. And who art thou, whose thick and bushy 
And beard of silver shade thy head and face ? 

Lucifer. Adam, I am a man ; I am thy brother. 
But of a higher rank ; 

Since I have drawn the vital air of heaven— 
Thou, in this lower world; 
For well thou know'st, that station 
Affords an airy grandeur to our birth. 
In years too I surpass thee ; 
My voice, too, and my language 
Declare me old, as these my locks of silver j 
Now if all elder things 
Are deem'd superior to their successors. 
In this my merit must be more than thine. 

Adam, How I should answer thee, my tongue knows 
Thou lofty Ixjrd of Heaven ! [not 

Since my sad error with so thick a cloud 
Of ever-during fear 
O'ershades my eyes and heart. 

Lucifer. Oh, Adam, do not fear! 

TUB FLESH. 

Wait thou a little I soon 

That shall be known to thee, which now is hid: 

All for thy good alone. 

And to save man from many griefs and pains. 

Lucifer. Now, Adam, understand 
How having made me in his lofty heaven. 
He next created thee; 
For a new wish he form'd 
To make another man, and give the world 

7M 



382 ADAM : 

To be his ^^ratcful residence, and then 

Clay he made flesh, and of that flesh made man | 

Then from the side of man he woman drew. 

And then ordain'd the law, 

Prohibiting the apple, 

Which if he tasted, man 

Must be deprived of his celestial home. 

Hence is it thou hast felt. 

Hence is it thou hast seen 

Clouds rolling through the air. 

And fiery scintillations in the sky. 

Rebellowing thunder and its rattling boits, 

And the tempestuous crash. 

These mournful pomps of horror. 

Say, say, what canst thou think 

That they portend below to new-made man ? 

All these appear'd in heaven, because from he»veo 

Now the celestial Adam is dislodged. 

As to terrestrial man 

(As if the world would drive him from the worldj. 

The earth itself grew barren. 

And every fruit grew harsh. 

The waters full of turbulence and gall, 

And every creature sharpen'd 

His beak, or tusk, or talon. 

Behold at last, O heaven ! a pair of brothers, 

The citizens of earth. 

O, Adam, do not grieve. 

That I by fault of thine have now lost heaven. 

Since to have haply found 

Thee, my beloved brother. 

Now makes me not to feel the loss of heaven : 

And happy we will live 

In this, a sylvan, and a sunny scene ; 

Or emulous of heaven, in God's own heaven 

Raised to a noble seat, 

I will, that we ascend. 

And underneath our feet 

Joy to behold the congregated choirs, 

Even like the blessed choirs, 

The children of this man. 

Now if we wish success to our desires, 

And should delight to see 

Springing like grass, and frequent as the flowen^ 

Our children rapidly arise to light, 

Turn we our eyes and heart 

To this fair goddess of delightful love I 

For easy 'tis to her 

To form in swe(H array the troops we wish. 

A plant so swet4ly fruitful 

SOU 



A SACRED DRAMA, 393 

Is not ; nor is the earth herself so fertile • 

Nor does it raise so scon ' 

Its nutritive production, 

As she will raise, if we are so disposed 

The fruit of lovely children. ' 

Then to the lily whiteness 

Of her enchanting cheek 

Advance the living roses of the lip! 

And of so sweet a flower 

For this love's goddess let us form a garland.' 

Oh to the living ruby 

Of this sweet fount of kisses, 

If he for kisses thirst. 

The hart of love shall run, 

There bathe his thirsty lip, 

And there on kisses quench his mighty ardour. 

THE FLESH. 

Wliy this delay, O Adam ? 
Approach, approach, my heart! 
Satiate thy thirst of love! 

Lucifer. What! dost thou fear, and tremble !> 
Now let the empty cloud 
Of all thy vain suspicion 
Disperse before the sun of heavenly truth I 
Extend, extend thy arras 
And in one dear embrace encircle both ! 
Happy who pants for thee ! alas, what dost thou ? 
At once thou givesi, and again draw'st back 
Thy blandishments, like lightning. 
That in appearing flies and vanishes. 

Adam. What fear assaults my heart I cannot tell 
But feel that like a timid deer I pant ' 

At the dire barking of blood-thirsty hounds. 



SCENE THE THIRD. 

Cherubim, Guardian of Adam, Adam, The Flesh, 
and Lucifer. 

Cherubim. 'Tis time to succour man. Alas ! what 
Most miserable Adam ? [dost thou, 

Lucifer. Why dost thou silent stand ? what are 
thy thoughts ? 

Adam. I seem'd to hear a plaintive, pleasing voice, 
That in this manner spoke : Alas ! what dost thou ? 
Most miserable Adam! 



801 



S84 ADAM : 

THE FLESH. 

A vain desire, and dread, 
Now lords it o'er thy heart. 

Cherubim. Since thy heart trembles, evils must be 

Adam. 1 tremble at deceit. [nigh. 

Lucifer. Thoa must have lost thy reason. 
If thou canst fear thy mistress, and thy brother. 

Cherubim. Fear! for they are thy foes. 

Adam. Thoa say'st thou art my brother, she my 
But if ye were my foes ! — [^mistress ; 

THE FLESH. 

Criii to treat us so ! 

What enemy can man now have on earth ? 
Cherubim. The enemy of Eve 
Adam. He, who occasion'd misery to Eve, 

And ne, who was the cause, that from this brow 

The painful sweat must now descend in streams. 
Lucifer. So little wilt thou trust us ? 

So lightly dost thou love us ? 

Yet it is fit thy fault 

Call forth the tears to flow into thy bosom. 

THE FLESH. 

With treachery 'tis fit to treat with man 

In gesture, tears, and voice, 

Only to plunge him in Tartarean fires. 

Adam. They weep in such abundance 
That every tear they shed strilies on my bosom ; 
And though like marble hard, 
I fear, 1 fear, that if it does not split, 
It may at least be soften'd. 

Angel. These are the poisonous waters of Avernu^ 
(Incautious man!) that from tlieir eyes distil. 

Lucifer. Ah heaven! why didst thou form me? 
Why didst thou join my lot 
With this ungrateful, misbelieving Adam, 
That feels not his own good, or my affliction? 

Adam. Restrain thy grief, thy tears ! and suffer me 
(If it is true, thy soul desires my good) 
To speak to thee apart. 
And I to thee will open all my thoughts. 

Lucifer. Hast thou no other wish ? 

Adam. No! I require no more. 

Lucifer. Behold us now apart! behold us far I 
If any other wish 

Strike thee, command! behold! we are obedient 
Not to thy words alone, but to thy nod. 

Adam. What would'st thou, O my heart ? 
What is thy wish, ray soul ? 
Now quiet thy desires ! quiet thy pains! 

602 



A SACRED DRAMA. 385 

Cherubim. Tell him, if he's thy brother. 
And both descendants from the starry sphere. 
They should with thee, in pure and perfect zeal, 
Adore the Maker of the heaven and earth. 

Adam. That which ray heart suggests, I now will do 

THE FLESH. 

O tempter! now 1 fear 
Some singular mischance. 

Cherubim. Now, now the fraud id known. 

Adam. Now, brother, if you wish. 
With this your pure celestial paramour, 
Hail'd as the soul of love. 
That I should think the one a heavenly Adam, 
And her the only love of our great Maker, 
Now bend with me your humble knees to earth 

Lucifer. How in one instant can two opposite^. 
Humility and pride. 
Together reign in me ? 

Adam. Can Adam so delay ? 

Lucifer. I'll tell theej ah, it seems a thing unfit 
That a celestial knee 
Should bend to this vile earth. 

Adam. Thou hast already told me, 
That in the high celestial plains above 
Thou must no longer dwell. 
But here with me enjoy delightful days, 
Amid these sunny spots ; 
Let it not then displease thee 
With earthly habitudes 
To have thy breast, O Adam, fraught like mine ! 

THE FLESH. 

Well dost thou speak, O Adam ! I am ready 
To pay thee prompt obedience. 

Lucifer. And I will also show, 
This fair one's pleasure shall my pleasure be. 

Adam. Behold I bow myself! behold me bend! 
Now let united hands be raised to heaven. 

Lucifer. To make palm meet with palm, in vain 
we strive. 

Adam. In truth there seems much pain. 

Lucifer. Perhaps you wish 
Our hands united thus ? 

Adam. No ! what, — do you not see 
That both united form a knot together. 
Finger entwisting Snger ? 

THE FLESH. 

Perhaps you choose them thus ? 
S 



iJ86 AbAM : 

Adam. Alas ! the example, 
That with my hands before your eyes I show yon.. 
Serves it so little ? heavens! what do I see ? 
So destitute of sense 
Are heavenly creatures ? 

Lucifer. Now behold them join'4 

THE FLESH. 

In truth I cannot tell, 

If hell this day more tries the strength oi Adam, 

Or Adam more torments the powers of helL 

Lucifer. Vigour 1 soul I animation! 
For in proportion as our strife is bloody. 
So will our palm of conquest rise in glory. 

Adam. Why do you thus apart 
In such confusion speak ? 
Now raise your eyes to heaven, 
And with delight contemplate »- 

Of all those starry sapphires 
The pure resplendent rays, 
And those fair blessed seats! 
Alas, thou shutt'st thine eyes, 
That stream upon the ground. 

Lucifer. O Adam, cease at length. 
Those rays so splendid dazzle us too much. 

Adam. This is my foe : I now discern him well 
The eagle of the sun 
Is used with pleasure on the sun to gaze ; 
And thou, a heavenly eagle, 
Accustom'd to the brightest rays of heaven, 
Dost thou disdain or shun them, 
Dazzled, and in confusion ? 

THE FLESH. 

Who knows what splendours in high heaven are 

He, who surveys them oft, [kindled P 

Is satiated at last ; 

There's nought created so divine and dear, 

That in long intercourse becomes not tiresome. 

Adam. Celestial good ne'er satiates, but delights. 
And magnifies itself in God's perfection ; 
As the fair landscape's beauty 
(Though 'tis a low example) 
becomes more perfect, and more flowery seems, 
When the sun gilds the valleys and the hills. 
But as I wish what ye too both desire, 
Now let your eyes be closed ; 

And with yo::r opening lips pronounce these irordat 
'Thee I adore.' 

LuciFEK. Go on! 

601 



A SACHliU DRAMA. 387 

Adail Say, then, 'Thee I adore.' 

Ldcifer. Go on ! for such a memory haye 1, 
That by a single effort 
I will repeat thy words. 

Adam. I am contented $ 

Yet thou observe my words ! Thee I adore, 
Thus with my knees to earth, and ^♦reaming eyea, 
Lord of the empyrean ! 

Great sovereign of the heavens, and only God I 
Holy, firm, formidable, just, and pious I— 
And still dost thou delay ? 

Lucifer. I meditate thy speech, 
Which to me seems so long, 
I doubt my power to speak it, 

Adam. Shall I again pronounce it ? 

Lucifer. This I cannot desire, 
But find a great defect 
In this imploring speech. 

Adam. Pray tell me what? 

Lucifer. No humble worshipper, not the adorer, 
But the adored, 'tis just that I should be. 
Alas! I can no longer 
Such outrages endure : 
No! who I am, I must at length reveal. 

THE FLESH. 

Alas! the same thing even I must do. 

Adam. Alas! what do I see? 
What horrid form, amidst the clustering trees, 
Does this false denizen of heaven assume? 
And his immodest partner ? 
Alas ! their winged feet 
The false ones move to me. 
And from their pomp and gold 
Breathe forth infuriate flame 1 
Succour me! help, O God! 
Take pity on my failing! 

Lucifer. Fly. as thou canst, from these my rapid 
Thy flying must*be vain. £wings 

Alas ! to my great grief, this day I see 
Who has the prize of conquest. 
Who soonest yields, and from his rival flies. 
So that I well can say 
To the eternal gulf. 

That in this hard and perilous contention. 
The toil belongs to hell ; to man the glory. 
I lose, alas! I lose: now with what face 
Can this my foot be turn'd again to hell ? 

THE FLESH. 

Ah I sad and dire event! ah strife! ah death I 
805 



388 ADAM : 

I.uciPEB. Yes, yes, 'tis just that my infurnaJ rage 
Should all now turn on me 
Since I have vainly tried 
To work the condemnation of this man. 
But can this.be"? (ah ! hard is my belief!) 
Exalted providence! 

Cherubim. Thou canst not mount, fierce monster! 
I affirm it, 
By this high brandish'd dart of penal fire. 

I.uciFEH. Ah, for the seats of hell 
I spread my rapid wings. 

Cherubim. And 1 these happier wings, lucid and 
Will exercise around, [light, 

For man's protection, and in scorn of hell. 



SCENE THE FOURXa 

THE WORLD. 

How fine I now appear! no more I seem 

A monster now of liorror. 

But of a lofty spot 

The blissful habitant, and call'd The FVorld; 

That so adom'd and splendid. 

Amidst thy prime delights, 

Laughter, and songs, and amorous affections, 

My snares of silver, and my nets of gold 

I may extend for man. 

That he may slide and fall, to rise no more ; 

And try in vain to heaven 

Again to rise upon the wings of zeal. 

And should he seem for ever 

Bent to survey the lovely azure heaven, 

The sun's bright lustre, and the lunar ray. 

And trembling stellar fires, 

T will delude him so 

With other lovely skies, that from tho first 

Qaick he shall turn his view. 

i will that my fair heaven 

Shall be of living sapphire ; there shall shine 

■* -un of bright pyropus, and a moon 

Form'd of the beamy diamond's spotless light 

A thousand and a thousand sparkling stars. 

Of jewels rich and rare ; 

And if amidst this lightning it may thunder. 

And burning bolts may seem to dart aroun^ 

My lightning be the ruby. 

My thunder sounding siWer, 

806 



A SACRED DRAMA. 389 

With. thuniKboUs of gold, and storms of pearl.' 

As a proucfloverftign of so rich a heaven. 

The World shall still exult, 

And thi« new man shall bend to me in worship ^ 

And thus cf these my pomps, 

My luxuries, and joys. 

The numerous sons of man become enaraour'd. 

Shall never know repose; 

But with destructive force 

Each shall endeavour of his wretched brother 

To gain the envied finery and wealth. 

Man I behold already for this gold, 

And for the world's delights. 

In horrid mansion full of smoke and fire, 

Tempering the deadly steel ; 

Now at the anvil, see ! 

How striking frequent with his iron mace. 

He forms the coat of mail : makes it his vest, 

And for destruction draws the blade of steel. 

Another see, converting 

Cold iron into fire, 

Tapers and twists it round ; 

And now a hatchet forms ; now see him eager 

To level trees and woods ; 

And now, with numerous planks, 

Behold him raise a work 

Fit to sustain the fury of the sea. 

Others I see toiling to pass o'er alps. 

To pass o'er mountains and the ri^ en rock : 

Leeches that prey on ore. 

And from earth's bosom suck great veins of gold 

Lo I others in the deep 

Trying the fertile sea, plmige through the wavea, 

Fearless encountering its tempestuous pride, 

If they from crusted shell, or craggy rock 

May coral draw, or pearl. 

Ah, labour as thou wilt, and sigh, or sweat, 

In this pursuit of gold. 

Thy cares and woes shall gather in proportion 

To all thy gather'd wealth. 

Lo! to preserve thy jewels and thy wealth, 

Thou hidest them under earth, 

And gold forbids thee to enjoy thy gold. 

Hence treacherous we see 

The servant to his lord. 

And through his breast and heart 

He thrusts the faithless sword. 

Through eagerness of gold. 

Hence on the table of a royal house 

There stands the statuo of a unicorn. 



a90 ADAM : 

As if in scorn of man ; ^ 

Since, giving safety to a mighty lord, 

The beast exposes human cruelty. 

Hence is it that the son, 

Greedy of gold, becomes his father's foe, 

Wishes him short existence. 

Flies him, and steals his wealth. 

So that to make him glad, his sire may pino 

Hence is it that, for gold, 

Brothers, becoming frantic, 

Brandish the hostile steel. 

And deem this gold more precious than theif bi 

Here by the blaze of gold 

The eyes of woman dazzled 

See not her luisband, nor regard her children. 

While, on the wings of passion, 

She with the adulterer flics, nor yet perceives 

That for this gold (vile dust !) 

She has resolved to quit lier very flesh. 

What more ? what more ? not only 

By gold's possession thou shalt prove the foe 

Of wife, of father, brother, and of friend. 

But rebel even to God ; 

Since with intemperate zeal 

Mere idols form'd of gold 

Thou shalt proclaim the only powers of heaven. 

But what do I behold i* blest that I am ! 

I see fair Eve approach ! on her soft back 

Bearing a load of many leafy boughs : 

What she now means to do 

Here will 1 watch, conceal'd amidst this bow»r. 



SCENE THE FIFTH 

Eve and The World. 

Eve. Canst thou presume, afflicted, wretched Ev(v 
To the bright sun to raise again thine eyes ? 
No I nol thou art unworthy well thou seest : 
Thou could'st behold him once, 
And gaze delighted on his golden splendour j 
Now if thou darest to view him, 
His radiance dazzles thee ; rather thou seem'st, 
When thou hast dared to meet his potent beams, 
To have thy fading eyes 
Wrapt in a dusky veil. 
Alas I it is too true. 
That I in darkness dwell, 

U08 



A SACRED DRAMA. 901 

And in the formidable clouds of sin 

I have o'erwhtlm'd the light of innocenoo. 

Ah, wretched, mournful Eve I 

If now thou tum'st thy foot, 

Eager to taste the pure and limpid stream, 

Alas, how troubled dost thou find the water. 

Or else the fountain dry ! 

If with quick appetite thou chance to turn. 

Anxious from lovely plants to pluck the fruit. 

How dost thou find it crude, 

Or made the dark recess of filthy worms! 

If weary, 'midst the flowers 

Thou seek'st to close thine eyes, 

liehold : with flattering pinions at thy feet, 

A serpent 'midst the flowers darts and hisses. 

Now to avoid the heat 

Of the fierce sun if thou would'st seek the shade 

Of the thick wood, or of the leafy grove, 

Thou fear'st the rage of monsters, and must trembU 

Like the light leaf that shakes at every breeze. 

And hence it is thy wish 

To fasten bough to bough, and trunk to trunk, 

Raising some safe asylum 

From serpents, monsters, tempests, and the sun. 

To you then will I turn me, verdant boughs. 

That hither on my back with toil 1 bore. 

Do vou del«nd me now ! now rise you here. 

Afford a safe retreat 

To Eve so wretched! Lo! I thus begin. 

It will suffice, if I with tender hand 

Tust shadow, what with far superior strc-ngtli 

And more enlighten'd sense, 

The sinner, Adam, here may terminate. 

THE WORLD. 

Abode more firm and faithful. 
Hell now prepares for thee, or rather Death. 
Bihold, behold, how she 

Employs herself in placing these green boughs ! 
To Eve I will unveil me. Ah! what dost thou f 
Why art thou raising thus. 
Eve, gentle fair one, these thy leafy boughs ? 
Tell me, what would'st thou do. 
Why dost thou toil and sigh ? 
Eve. Alas! what do I see? 
Do not approach me! no! from me be farl 

THE WORLD. 

What canst thou fear, O lovely. 
Sweet angel of tho earth ? 



392 ADAM : 

Joy of all hearts, and honour of the world? 

Eve. Thou Lord, who didst create me. 
This stranger, who now rich in gold and genu 
Courteous accosts me with a human face. 
Do thou to me reveal ; 
Nor let our God consent. 
That Eve again, or man, 
Precipitately fall in fatal error 1 
Alas! with human face 
An artful base deceiver. 
Led me to taste the interdicted apple ; 
And thence my heart must dread 
Other infernal guile. 
Since in the world one man alone exists. 

THE WORLD. 

Before my light, as at the radiant sun 

Darkness itself is used to disappear. 

Drive from thy heart this cloud, 

That makes thy visage pale ; 

And from the lovely cave of glowing rubies. 

Now closed to guard, as in the depth of Ganges, 

The treasure of inestimable pearls. 

Send forth thy tender sighs ; 

And if, thou fair one, 'tis thy wish to sigh. 

Let all thy sighs be sweet ! 

Eve. And who art thou, so eager 
To change the tears of woman into smiles ? 

THE WORLD. 

Know, gentle fair one, you in me behold 

As much as you can see. 

Raising your eyes to heaven, 

Or turning them to earth; 

An indigested mass. 

Chaos I once was call'd, now fair and fine. 

Heaven, earth, and sea, salute me as The fVwrVL 

\ too have had my residence amidst 

The miracles above ; 

But O ! a fault of mine. 

Which now to tell thee would be out of scasoB, 

Induced the sacred Resident above 

From his eternal dome in wrath to drive m« ; 

And from a bright and fine 

Trophy of paradise. 

Into a shapeless mass 

Of hideous matter he converted me. 

At last my mighty Maker, having seen 

That my condition balanced my offence, 

Bestow'd upon me soon another form. 



810 



A SACRED DRAMA : 31 

Far from his highest heaven, and thus at once 
Annihilated that tremendous prison. 
Dreary and dark ; he made me in exchange 
The luminous gay World. 

Eve. Alas ! my first alarm 
So deeply wounds and lords it o'er my heart, 
I know not what to credit, what to da 

THE WORLD. 

Now, since there's nothing that to me aflTords 
Such infinite disgust, 
As to behold aught dirty and neglected, 
I pray thee, lovely fair, be it thy study 
With purple, gold, and robes adorn'd with pearl. 
To grace thy gentle form, and cast to earth 
Those skins of animals that shock the sight 
Observe how much more pleasing and majestic 
Man may be render'd by a graceful dress ! 
Compared to me dost thou not seem a beast ? 
Rather among the beasts 
Dost thou not seem the vilest animal ? 
Dost thou not see, that every abject creature. 
Or of the foaming sea, 
Or of the fields of air. 
Or of the woods and mountains 
Are deck'd with humid scales, 
Gay feathers, shaggy skins, or painted bristles ? 
And if on earth thou wert created naked, 
Yet well array'd with reason 
Appear'd thy noble soul, by which thou might'st 
(Made empress of the world) 
Deck thee with radiant gems, and robes of gold. 
I'oo vile a mansion are the woods for thee, 
In nakedness surpassing even the beasts. 
Fo • what end dost thou think, 
The great exalted hand 
Created in a moment 
Gold, silver, and rich gems ? 
Perchance, perchance thou think'st 
It may be right that these 
Bright wonders of the world 
Rest ever buried in a blind oblivion. 
No ! no ! thou simpleton, it is that man, 
Sweating in their pursuit, 
May decorate himself; and as the sun 
Flames in full splendour in a sapphire sky. 
Or 'mid the stars of gold 
The bright and silvery moon, 
He thus may glitter in this earthly heaven. 
What more ! behold what gems the sea conceals^ 
S 2 

811 



39i 4DAM : 

Or the rich earth embraces. 

Which, tempting man to joy. 

Display their rare endowments : 

Whence it is just to say. 

They were for man created ; and if blind 

Through ignorance he slights them, 

Or shows himself ungrateful, 

Why has such treasure been for man created ? 

Shall it be true, that you, the sovereign fair, 

The gentle ruler of this worldly realm. 

Can prove to God ungrateful ? to the World 

Like earth's vile offspring ? Rise ! assume this gold. 

The topaz, ruby, pearls, and splendid purple, 

Bright robes of gold, and rich habiliments! 

In worldly trophies like our lofty queen 

Shine, Eve, and let all creatures worship thf^L'l 

how in viewing thee, thou radiant fair, 
Cover'd with gems and gold, 

1 seem to joy ! O how, 

While you majestically move along, 

The flowers appear before your feet to weave 

A sweet impediment! 

Rather I seem to see the stars from heaven 

Innumerous descend. 

Here for your feet to form a bright support 

What dost thou, pensive fair ? 

Now of thy radiant locks, that stream at length, 

A store of jewels, of fine threads you weave 

For hearts a net of gold. 

Now let a charming smile 

Enliven thy sweet cheek! 

Then shalt thou hear in accents of delight 

The birds around miraculously say, — 

' O what a lip of coral ! 

And what fair teeth of pearl. 

Has Eve's sweet mouth, so delicately small ! 

How sweet is her discourse. 

That seems to be below, what, in high heaven, 

The voice of God is to the blessed host.' 

Arise, arise ! be warm. 

Thou spring of tenderness, and flame of souls ? 

Come! leave! O leave the woods 

To creatures of the forest ; 

And with resplendent brass, 

And snowy shining marble, 

Let a proud palace now be raised to heaven, 

To form a worthy mansion for thy merit ! 

To make this easy to thee 

The World will not find difficult. That wood. 

Which you Jiave wish'd to join. 



A SACRED DRAMA. 305 

Foarlnw the fury of the savage beasts, 
Let that now form a seat 
With walls of silver, and a roof of gold, 
Of emerald its pillars. 
And hung on golden hinges, gates of pearl 
Eve. Oh heaven I what do I see? what's thi». 
O God ? 

THE WORLD. 

What hast thou more to say ? Ah, simple, enter 

With light and speedy foot, there, where alone 

Thou find'st a fit abode ! 

Then wilt thou truly be of thy great Maker 

The image and ingenious imitator. 

Since he among so many 

Legions in heaven, as much as he excels them 

In majesty, so m.uch himself he raised 

On his exalted throne, in highest heaven. 

Thus here below let man amid these tribes 

Of fishes and of birds. 

And of unnumber'd beasts. 

Possess a mansion worthy 

Both of his name and empire ! 

Eve. In truth, when I behold your mighty pomps 
That might so soon be counted as my own, 
I will not say that my high heart feels not 
The goading of ambition ; but in turning 
My eyes upon the precept of my Father, 
I will disdain, and from your proffers fly. 
As from vile dirt the snowy ermine flies; 
And this poor skin alone 
Shall be my golden robe adom'd with pearl ; 
A cave my proud abode ; 
The troubled water and rude herbs to me 
Dear beverage and food. 
No! no ! I will not to my first dread fault 
Now add a second like it; making thus 
A path more recent to the gulf of ruin. 

THE WORLD. 

O simple fair, come forth ! 

Come forth, ye fair and gentle virgins all. 

From this ray golden palace! 

Be you devoted handmaids 

Around this fair, and 'midst your tuneful songs 

Preseat to her rich robes, adom'd with gold 1 



8U 



a06 ADAM : 

SCENE THE SIXTH. 

Chorus op Nymphs, Eve, The World, and Adam. 

Behold in dance, O joyful World, 

Little virgins ; 

See these maidens, 

With their treasure bright and cheerful; 

Hearken now how they are singing. 

Eve alone invoke, and honour! 

See their robes with gold inwoven j 

See their vestments 

Shedding lustre 

From the treasure of their jewels ! 

Bright the crown and rich the sceptre, 

That to Eve is now presented. 

I f in heaven, nor sun nor planet 

Shed its ardour 

And its radiance. 

Heaven would be a mass of horror j 

But with light so pure and radiant 

Heaven is term'd the seat of splendour. 

He, who made so many wonders, 

Fair and beauteous. 

Is desirous 

All that's fair to have before him : 

Deck thyself then, O thou coy one. 

If thy God delights in beauty. 

Adam. What dost thou. Eve, not see 
That if uncautious to these charms thou yield 6t, 
We shall sink deeper in the snares of hell ? 

Eva Alas ! what do I hear ? 

Adam. Hence, ye rebellious crewl 
By virtue of my God depart confounded, 
To the infernal realms ! 

CHORtJs. Ah, thou must then avoid this light of day 
Thou sightless mole of hell! 

THE WORLD. 

Ah flesh infected 1 
Await, O yet await 

Fit punishment to your presumptuous rage I 
And hast thou dared so highly. 
Thou creature of corruption. 
That this bright palace which for Eve I raised. 
Speaking thou hast ingulfd, 
And from the day hast banish'd 
A numerous group of fair and graceful nymphs ? 
Come forth, now all come forth, 
Ye horrid monsters, from the caves of hellt 

814 



A SACRED DRAMA [ 

Let UB this hour display 

Our utmost fortitude, and force supreme. 

Now let this man be chain'd; 

Fix him a prisoner in the depths of hell. 

And let his victor reap the glory due. 

EvK Succour, O God! O succour! 
Lord show thy mercy to ray great offence^ 

Adam. Ah, do not fear, my love. 
But hope, still hope in heaven j hope, for a.t last 
Celestial grace was never slow to save. 



SCENE THE SEVENTH. 

Lucifer, Death, The World, Chorus of Demonh 
armed with various arms. 
Lucifer. Thou fool, in vain thou toil'st 
To invocate high heaven ; thy God may arm. 
If he is not abased, and with him arm 
His flying warriors all. 
From our infernal chains 

And these sharp talons, now to draw thee forth ; 
To his first loss, and first discomfiture, 
A second like the first shall soon be join'd. 
Of his supernal loss has he not heal'd 
The painful memory, 
The ruin of his angels? 
That now, inflamed with anger. 
He seeks in heaven another mightier ruin ? 
To arms ! at length to arms, 
Satanic warriors all I 
And let his wretched residue of angels, 
All falling out of heaven. 
Be all ingulf d in hell ! 
Lo, meteors in the air and storms at sea 
I kindle and I raise : 
Lo, Tartarus his wings 
Spreads for celestial seats : 
Behold the stars of God 

By Lucifer's proud foot crush'd and extingulsh'd ; 
Aiid girt for war smd glory, 
Let Tartarus through heaven proclaim a triumph! 



ADAM: 



SCENE THE EIGHTH. 

Archangel Michael, Chorus of Angels, Chokos 
OF Demons. 

Michael. Tremble, thou son of wrath, 
At this sharp dart's inevitable glance. 
At the dread stroke of the celestial leader ; 
Not against God, against thyself alone. 
Thou raisest wrath, and wounding wound'st thyself. 
Sinlc into shade, misguided, wretched spirit I 
Utterly void of all angelic light, 
Be blind in gazing on that heavenly lustre, 
To me imparted by the Lord of light. 
The dazzler of the sun. 
Fly, ye infected crew. 
Ye enemies of God, 
Nor let the breathing whirlwind. 
With blast from hell, the yet unruin'd life 
Of man o'erwhelm with deeper shades of darkness. 
No more thy fatal hiss, thou snake of hell, 
Shall by its discord stun ; 
Since pierced and panting now 
Thou faintest, poison'd by thy own contagion. 

Lucifer. Heaven's talking minister, 
With rays more loaded than inspired with courage • 
Soft creature of the sky, 
Thou angel of repose, . 
In solemn indolence. 
Humility's calm nest, a seat of peace, 
A warrior but in name. 

Whose countenance is fear, whose heart confusion ? 
Spread, spread thy pinions for the arms of God, 
Take refuge there, and there be confident ! 
For too unequal would the combat be 
'Twixt cowardice and valour, 
The warrior and the slave. 
Infirmity and strength, and, let me say. 
Betwixt vile Michael and brave Lucifer. 
But if such daring can inflame thy heart. 
As now to rescue from this warlike arm 
That man, mere flesh and clay. 
That animated dust, I warn thee well 
Of mortal conflict sharp, where thou shalt see, 
By this avenging hand 
All the large family of God extinguish'd. 

Michael. Such mournful victory, 
O Belial, in thy frenzy desperate, 
As once in heaven thou gain'st, now with mankind 

816 



A SACRED DRAMA. 399 

Subduinjr the deceived, 

And hence the conquer'd conquers, 

Freed is the captive, and thyself ensnared. 

Now be it manifest 

What pahns of victory 'tis thine to raise. 

Behold against thee, thou unfaithful spirit, 

Michael become compassionately cruel. 

Lucifer. If at the early sound of war, the first 
Encounter of our arms, 
'Twas given a mighty warrior to destroy 
A third part of the stars. 
See in what brief assault 
I can demolish the great seat of God! 
Be dazzled now before this warlike blaze, 
That from the brow of death I now diffuse, 
Whirling in bloody circle 

From my high front these death-denouncing comets ! 
Behold! behold at length 
Heaven yields no more a refuge to its angels! 
Since to a fate more joyous, 
A happy pass expands, and seems to say, 
Begone, at length begone, 
Ye frighten'd angels, now relinquish heaven ! 
The warrior doom'd to hell 
Becomes the blessed lord of these brig^ht seats. 

Michael. Why longer pause to cru.sh tl.o pro;ic 
loquacity 
Of this presumptuous and insulting rebel ': 
Soon with a pen of adamant, with striking 
Dread characters of blood. 
Within the volume of eternal woe 
The glory shall be blazon'd 
Of thy lost victory. 
To arms ! at length to arms. 
To spread dismay through hell ! 
Joy, man! smile, heaven! and Tartarus, lamer t! 

Lucifer. Seldom upon the vaunting 
Of a proud tongue too bold 
Boldness of hand attends. To arms ! to arms ! 
Thou fight with me ; and you, my followers, all 
Unconq>ierable warriors, 

Transpierce and put to flight this abject crew. 
The timid partisans 
Of an unwarlike leader ! 

Ah ! him who favours brief and endless shame 
Possess'd in heaven, and now on earth display'd 
Great fortitude but with unequal force, 
Him a celestial stroke 
Now drives confounded to the blind abyss ; 
And justice here decrees 

81? 



400 ADAM : 

That he who lost the fight should lose the sun. 

Angels and God, at length ye are triumphant! 

Now, now is Lucifer 

O'erwhelm'd, and all his legion 

Sinks from the light of day to endless night. 

Michael. Fall thou at length, fall wounded and 
Fierce monster of the shades, [subdued, 

To death's deep horrors, there be doom'd to die 
By an immortal death ! 
Nor hope thy wings to heaven 
Ever to spread again ! that wish, too bold 
For thee, so desperate and unrepenling. 
Thou'rt fallen, at length thou'rt fallen, 
Most arrogant of monsters ! 
In pain thou sink'st as low, 
As high in joy it was thy hope to soar. 
Again thou leam'st to fall, 
Transfix'd with thunder to the drear abyss. 
Fool ! thou hast wish'd to take this man thy captive, 
And thou alone hast plunged 
Within the deepest gulf: 
Hence pierced and overwhelm'd. 
Sinking to Tartarus, 
The flame of wrath eternal 
Bore thee to hell, the hell of hottest 6res. 
A spotless angel, O thou prince of falsehood, 
Thy folly hoped to put to flight and wound; 
But thou, opposed to him. 
Hast yielded, plying thy wing'd feet in haste. 
Thou too hast hoped to turn the spacious world. 
In hostile flame, to ashes. 
And at thy ardent blast and baleful breathing 
Clouds, lightning, and tempestuous bursts of thunder, 
With rattling deadly bolts of arrowy flame, 
Roll'd through the air, whence all the mountains 
And all the vales re-echoed in convulsion, [shook. 
And yet, behold, in heaven 

The spheres move round more musical than ever, 
And all the azure sky 
The lucid sun with brighter beam adorns : 
Behold the ocean, tremulously placid, 
And from his Persian gulf 
In gay abundance scattering pearl and coral ; 
Nor weary are the sportive fish in gliding 
Along the trembling sapphire. 
Behold, what verdant and what flowery browi 
These pleasant vales in exultation raise! 
Hark, to the grateful accents 
Of every flying songster. 
Inhabitant of air, 



818 



A SACRED DRAMA. 401 

Tliat in his flight now gives 
Voice to the woods and music to the valrs. 
Now, all rejoicing in a day so noh'.c. 
To the confusion and the shame ot hell, 
Let every spotless ensign rise to hfavcii. 
And fluttermg sport wit.h the exulting uinds , 
Let all the instruments of heavmly gioiy 
Sound through the sky the victories of heaven ! 



SCENE THE NINTH. 
Adam, Eve, Chokus of Angels. 

Adam. O sounds beloved, that ctdl us now in joy. 
To scenes we left in sorrow; ah ! I fear 
To taint the fragrance of the heavenly host, 
Stain'd as I am with sin. 
O thou, that haply of celestial ruby 
Wearest the blazing mail, 
Hallow'd and brave Archangel, 
Brave, yet compassionate, thy golden locks, 
Radiant as light, thy glittering helmet cover"?; 
Thou in thy right hand shakest the spear of victory 
And raisest in thy left a golden balance ; 
Close, close thy painted plumes so rich in gold, 
And cast a gentle look 
On him who, prostrate, honours and adores thee 

Eve. O happy dawn of the etema;! sun, 
Thou courteous kind restorer, 
To these my blinded eyes 

With sorrow darken'd, and bedew'd with tears ; 
Now, of thy rays a fix'd contemplator. 
The mole of error stands ; 
Now on your voice depends 

An asp, once deaf to heaven's most friendly dictates 
I,*wavering wanderer. 
Who undissembling own 
The fault in which I fell, to thee I bend, 
Nor in my speech deny 
That I am Eve. the cause 
Of human kind's perdition. 
Now let thy guardian hand 
(O in the deeds of God thou faithful serTM*ir) 
Relieve me from the depth 
Of my so great offences. 

Adam. Of heavenly mysteries 
And secret will of God, 
Thou hallow'd blest rerealer, 

819 



402 ADAM : 

Angel of eloquence ! 

The fatal presages 

Of mournful Eve and Adam 

Now quiet with the breath 

Of thy exalted converse; 

So that this troubled flood 

That strikes the heart, in issuing from the eyea. 

No more may make me seem 

A rock of sorrow in a sea of tears. 

Michael. Arise, O both arise, you who of God 
Are creatures so regarded, 
Dismiss your fears of the infernal portent 
If your eternal Lord 
Corrects you with one hand. 
He with the other proffers your protection. 
With happy auspices. 
He who delivers souls. 
On his light wings directs hh flight to you. 
In God's dread warfare harbinger of peace. 
The mighty Fount of life, 
The Artificer of souls, 
The Architect of worlds, 
The mighty Lord of heaven. 
Maker of angels and of all things made, 
The infinite Creator, 
To safety summons you. 
And to short war a lasting peace ordains. 
Now from those double fountains 
The warm and gushing streams 
Of sorrow, Eve, restrain! 
Thou hast been culpable 
In rashly seizing the forbidden fruit ; 
To man thou hast occasion'd 
Anguish and grief ; thou hast indeed converted 
Peace into war, and life into perdition : 
Now by the aid of Him, 
Whose handmaid nature is, and servant fate, 
Who can restrain the sun, 
And motion give to this unmoving mass, 
Even yet may Eve enjoy 
In prison liberty ; 
May be unbound, though fetter'd, 
And triumph, while she is o'ercome, and vanquish 
Now, since there shines in heaven 
The star of love and peace, 
And to the shame of hell. 
The victor to the vanquish'd yields his palm. 
Ah now let each, with humble eyes to heaven. 
Incline the knee to earth, 
And supplicant in prayer, give God the praisa 



8/0 



A SACRED DRAMA. 403 

Of goodness infinite; 

For you shall find, to recompense your zeal, 

That God your father is, your mansion heaven. 

Adam. Thou mighty Lord, who, resting high above. 
With regulated errors 
And with discordant union guidest heaven ; 

of the fair eternal realms of light 
Thou Lord immutable, resplendent power, 
Thou dazzler and obscurer of the sun ! 
Now in these weeping eyes 

And on this humid cheek 

1 dry my bitter tears, I cheer my heart 
Now, by thy zealous mercy. 

Though spotted, 1 have safety ; 
Security in hazard, love in hate; 
And sinking into heli. 
Am yet a citizen of highest heaven, 

Eve. With dissolution life. 
With strife and contest peace. 
With ruin victory. 
With deep offence salvation. 
With powers of darkness heaven. 
These to unite is not a human talent. 
But of the eternal hand. 
Omnipotence supreme ; hence is it, Lord, 
That wounded Eve is whole, 
Triumphs in loss, and, though subdued, has glory. 
My guide, I will obey thee ; 
Since, O benignant Lord, 
Thy service is dominion. 
And to obey thee, glory. 
If pain allow not that I speak the pain 
Which wounds my heart so deeply, 
Thou most indulgent Father 
Givest to the heart and soul a new existence: 
Awaken'd by affliction, 
Raising my voice to heaven, 
I'll teach resounding echo 
To carry to the sky my humble song, 
r)e»i^oted to thy praise. 

Michael. Ye victims cleansed by tears, 
Yo martyrs in affliction. 
Amidst your blessed pains, 
Ye holocausts of life and of content ! 
Now call the stars i.o more 
Vindictive ; war is now 
Converted into peace. 
And death turn'd into life. 
Hence mortal Adam is now made immortal. 
And Eve, though dead in many parts, revires 

821 



404 ADAM : 

The potent fire of love. 

In which the tender God of mercy blazes 

Inflames him with pure zeal to save the sinner 

Contend, resist, and bravely 

Wage with the hostile Serpent constant war; 

It is man's province now 

To conquer hell, and triumph over death. 

Creatures of grace! feel deeply now for ever, 

That your most gracious Father 

Would not direct towards the ground your face. 

As he has made the brute, but up to heaven; 

So that, for ever mindful oT their source. 

Your happy souls may point towards their home! 

For the high realm of heaven 

Is as a shining glass, in which of God 

The glories ever blaze. 

Inure yourselves to water, sun, aad winds. 

And in the stony caves. 

In the most barren desert 

That the sun visits when he blazes most, 

There both exert your powers; 

There many years and many. 

United ye shall dwell in hallow'd.love; 

And from your progeny henceforth the v/orld 

Exulting shall derive fertility. 

And now to you, ye mortal pair, I promise, 

As ye together sinn'd. 

If ye in penitence have join'd together, 

Together even in heaven, 

In a corporeal veil 

Contemplating the sacred face of God, 

Ye shall enjoy the bliss of paradise. 

Adam. Greater than my offence I now acknowledge 
Your mercy, O my God ! 

Since you, become the sovereign friend of man, 
To him, though ruin'd, now extend your hand ' 

Eve. As I have known to sin. 
So shall 1 know to weep ; 
For who in sinning knew forbidden joy. 
Humble in punishment, should know to suffer 
Be mute, be mute, my tongue ; 
Speak thou within, my heart. 
And say with words of love, 
See how to mortals, even in perdition. 
The hand of heavenly succour was extended! 

Michael. At length, since now with joy 
Man, being thus delivered 

From hell's keen talon, feels unbounded transport, 
And in his rapture deems 
Earth turn'd to heaven, this world a paradise; 



A SACRED DRAMA. 405 

By these pure splendid dazzling rays of heaven, 

By these delightful fires, 

That in the light of God more lovely blaze, 

Rich with new beams, and with new suns this day, 

Day of festivity, 

The day of paradise, rather a day 

Blest in itself, and blessing every other I 

Let all with festive joy 

Of God's indulgenceging J 

Of Adam and of Eve, 

Now made on earth the denizens of beaven ; 

And let your tuneful songs 

Become the wonder of futurity. 

ANGELS SING. 

Move, let us move our feet 

There, where this man shall now 

Wash out his past offence 

With humble, hallow'd drops ; 

And of the mighty Maker 

Praise we the love and mercy. 

That in this day to man's envenom'd viound 

Suddenly gives his pity's healing aid; ' 

Rejects him and receives. 

Deeming his every wrong and error light, 

And now at last with more benignant zeal, 

And in despite of Satan, 

Gives him, redeem'd from hell, 

A seat amid the golden stars of heaven. 

Ye progeny of Adam, 

Whose race we shall behold adorn the world, 

Ye shall not pray in vain 

To your high Lord, the fountain of all mercy. 

Be leaves of that pure branch, 

On which the Word Incarnate shall be grafted ! 

Thunder, infuriate hell. 

Be siormy ! yet his leaf shall never fall : 

To him a joyous offspring 

Is promised by the Lord of heaven's great viaejard. 

Stricken, transfix'd, enkindled in a blaze, 

And burning with eternal love for man. 



THE END. 



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